


Indentured

by AtmosphericFantasy



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Injury, Near Death Experiences, Other, Slavery, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 76,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22304608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtmosphericFantasy/pseuds/AtmosphericFantasy
Summary: A large rifle was slung on their back, they carried a blaster in their hand. Even in the dying light you could make out the redness of their armour, so stark against the white snow. The sight of their helmet make your heart ache. Your owners had sent a Mandalorian after you, they weren't just going to make an example out of you, they would make it a spectacle.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 217
Kudos: 704





	1. Volition

You were getting used to the cold.

You were beginning to appreciate it, as odd as that sounded. It offered a freedom that you'd never experienced. Khorixas IX was a remote planet, almost barren. Few called it home, and you were glad to be one of them. Even though you were struggling to feed yourself, it was worth every moment. It wasn't like you hadn't gone hungry before.

A few weeks ago, you had to trek four days to the closest village to barter for protein bars. You'd sold the macrobinoculars that you'd stolen, which were the only thing of real value that you'd owned. The bars would be enough to supplement your supplies for a long while. Ice fishing had gotten harder over the winter months. Before you would gut and debone the fish with the hunting knife, but now nothing went to waste. Sometimes it would take days before you caught anything at all. 

But today luck was on your side. The Marika fish was tied onto the bag on your back. Though it was small, it would be enough for a few meals, more if you rationed carefully. The light was beginning to fade, so you were making your way back home. Calling it that had felt strange at first, you hadn't called a place that for a very long time. The sound of fresh snow crunching underneath your boots was oddly satisfying. As the wind started to pick up, you quickened the pace and pulled up the furs to cover the bottom half of your face. The goggles protected your vision from blurring in the cold. In a few more hours, you wouldn't survive being exposed out in the open like this. There would be another storm tonight. 

With no access to forecasts, you had to learn the hard way, and after a few close calls you had become particularly vigilant and aware of your surroundings. A lesson worth learning. 

It began to snow when you reached the forest. Half a mile or so and you'd be home. The snow was coming down thick and silently, with only the wind disturbing the peace. You were warm under the furs from the brisk walk, so you uncovered your face. The air was so crisp and fresh, there was something pure about it, almost healing. The Marika would be portioned carefully, you could use it for broth, cook it with one of the remaining root vegetables and add some of the protein bar to make it go further. The promise of a warm, hearty meal drove you forwards. You nearly smiled while gazing at your home. It was a small cave that cut into the rockface, warm enough to protect against- 

You stuttered to a stop. Someone was coming out of the entrance. A large rifle was slung on their back, they carried a blaster in their hand. Even in the dying light you could make out the redness of their armour, so stark against the white snow. The sight of their helmet make your heart ache.

You were immobilised. It was as if your body was unwilling to accept what it was seeing. You knew the stories of the fearsome warriors and the dread that flooded your gut almost made you feel nauseous. If your owners had sent a Mandalorian after you, they weren't just going to make an example out of you, they would make it a spectacle. 

It was in that moment that the Mandalorian spotted you amongst the trees. Their posture tensed and they began to slowly step towards you. You mirrored their movements and shifted backwards. 

No, no, no, this couldn't be happening. How did they find you? There was nowhere else for you to go. You didn't have the credits to go off world again, this was your final chance at freedom. And it had been desecrated in mere moments.

The mark of servitude on the back of your neck felt as if it was burning, taunting you. How did you ever think you could escape? Why did you ever believe you could be free?

No. You wouldn't let them take you. It didn't matter that you only had a hunting knife to protect yourself. You'd run. You'd keep running until the storm took you, you'd die free, you had to.

They stepped forward again, and began to lift the blaster to aim in your direction. It was in that moment that you ran. You ripped off the bag from your back and dumped it onto the ground as you fled. Weaving through the trees, you were running flat out. The fresh snow wasn't more than a foot deep and the snow beneath that had frozen solid, so it didn't impede your speed significantly. And yet, every step would be marked clear, every step could be easily followed. 

The trees would provide some protection from incoming fire, but you heard nothing, saw nothing. Your assumption must have been right, they were going to take you alive. The fear had spilled out from your gut into your veins, filling you with a dreaded panic that made you almost lose focus on where you going. You didn't know how much the Mandalorian had closed the gap behind you. 

Past the trees up ahead, there was higher ground, it would give you some much needed cover. Each breath was a struggle, you could barely suck the cold air in fast enough. Your heart was beating so hard against your chest it was becoming agonising. The snow was coming down thicker, all you needed was to hold out until the storm really picked up. 

Your pace slowed as the terrain steepened, but you pushed on. Your legs ached profusely, lungs burned for more oxygen, heart hammering away. The wind was picking up, enough so that you could hear it over the noise you were making. Visibility began to drop drastically, the light was almost gone. 

On and on you ran. Breath after desperate breath. 

You suddenly realised that you couldn't feel your legs anymore. They'd hurt so much and now the pain had just dissipated into nothing. That wasn't good. Pain meant your body was responsive, without it. . .you'd have to stop soon or you would collapse otherwise. 

Some boulders were up ahead, though they were covered in snow, you knew exactly where they were. You sank down into the snow behind the boulders and leaned your back against them. As you tried to catch your breath, you felt lightheaded, so much so that you thought you might pass out. Your heart wasn't slowing down either. Peeling off a glove, you felt the skin on your face and neck. You hadn't sweated at all. 

Cursing the nerve damage, you opened up the fur coat to let some cold air in. Your hand was hurting from the cold when you tucked it back into the glove. The temperature was dropping, you weren't sure how long you should keep your coat open for. Clenching your eyes shut, you waited until your heart finally began to slow. 

“Put it back on,” a deep voice murmured. Your body shuddered at the sound and your gut ached when you saw the Mandalorian standing only a few metres away, blaster focused in your direction. The exertion of chasing after you was barely noticeable in his tone, but you could see it in the heaving of his shoulders. The silence hung heavy between you as the snow continued to fall. “Now,” he commanded, the word was spoken with an authority that didn't require rage to enhance its effectiveness. 

You obeyed without question, but didn't raise your hands in surrender. 

“If you. . .take me back, they'll. . .they'll kill me slow. It might take months,” you managed to say, hoping it might appeal to the Mandalorian's honour, however unlikely that might be.

“When I take you back,” he corrected. “That's not up to me.” You shifted off the boulder and began to move away from him. He approached you in kind, blaster easily trained on you. 

“I'd rather not shoot you. I don't want to carry you all the way back.” You gritted down your teeth, hating how casual he sounded, how inconvenienced he would be. You rushed onto your feet to make a run for it, and barely made it anywhere when something latched tight around your ankle and forced you to fall face first onto the snow. It began to pull your body backwards, dragging you across the ground back to the Mandalorian. 

You reached out blindly, trying to hold onto something, anything to prevent you getting closer to him. The snow piled up uselessly under your gloved fingers. 

When you stopped moving, he kicked you over onto your back and the wire that was around your ankle was retracted back into his vambrace. He pulled the large rifle from his back and shifted the two-pronged end towards your body. It sparked with electricity before he shoved it against your torso. The shock made your body convulse, muscles contract, but the pain didn't come. The voltage wasn't high enough. You were used to more, much more. You slumped automatically as he moved away and slung the rifle back over his shoulder. He was expecting you to be unresponsive for a good while yet, he didn't realise how little an effect the shock had. 

The Mandalorian turned away, his attention no longer focused on you. It gave you the chance to pull out the hunting knife sheathed at your side. As he was retrieving a pair of heavy duty handcuffs, you lurched forwards, stabbing him in the back of his knee. He grunted loudly before you managed to kick him off balance into the snow. 

You scrambled desperately onto your feet and took off, clutching the bloodied knife in your hand. You headed mindlessly towards the lake, even though there was nowhere to go. The only place you'd survive the night was home, and he knew exactly where that was. You couldn't go back, you had to keep going. And so you did. On and on. Step after frantic step. 

The snow was coming down thick, the wind was whipping it off the ground so you could barely see five metres in front. You slowed down to a walk, no longer able to keep up the pace. Tucking the knife away, your arms wrapped around yourself. The temperature was beginning to plummet, you could feel the cold bearing down on you, burrowing into your bones. 

There was nothing but the snow now. 

The Mandalorian could have been right behind and you wouldn't have known. You couldn't see him, couldn't hear him coming. Perhaps the Mandalorian had decided to retreat and take sanctuary in the cave, there was no sense continuing the hunt now when he'd been injured. . .surely? 

You stopped to turn around and waited for him to come out of the snow, more than inconvenienced but pitted with rage. But he never came, you were alone. 

About to push on, you recalled what he was wearing. He did not seem prepared for the weather. He couldn't have been wearing many layers underneath that armour, there must have been some heating fixture to regulate his body temperature. If it wasn't the cold that delayed him, then it was the injury which impeded his ability to follow. 

Would he be able to make it back to the cave if he couldn't walk? You shoved the thoughts from your mind and headed off as you had before. Less than a minute passed when a profound anguish began to eat away at you. If the assumption that he would survive was incorrect, you would be condemning him to die. No, it was worse than that, you would be responsible for his death. You desperately tried to gather up all the selfishness you had, asking yourself what did it matter. He came here of his own volition, his own greed for profit, he understood the risks. 

You stilled once more. 

You had to be sure. You would check he was back home, tending to the wound as he warmed himself, only then, only then could you be at peace. Heading back the way you came, the concern had overridden any thoughts of how stupid this was, how thoughtless. He was probably tormenting you, watching you come back to him in rapt amusement. You were risking a good, quick death of your own making, over a very slow and tortured one. Stepping in your own footprints, you headed back in a state of disquiet. You had to be sure, you had to be. Shivers racked painfully at your spine. 

You tucked your fingers into the coat's pockets and kept moving them to bring back some feeling. You weren't sure how long it took you to make it back to the boulders. The snow had been disturbed where he dragged you, the dark patch on the ground must have been his blood. 

There were no other footsteps going off in any other direction apart from the ones you'd made coming and leaving this place. He must have followed yours back to the cave. That was promising. He hadn't deliriously wandered off into the snow.

Even through the worsening blizzard, it was relatively easy to follow the footsteps by feel. At best, you could only make out a couple metres in front of you now, visibility was almost nonexistent. You didn't know how far you'd gone, or how far you had to go, only that it had been a while since you'd left the boulders. 

Maybe your concerns had been a subconscious act of self-preservation. By protecting him, you were really trying to save yourself by going back home, to the only place where survival was possible in this whiteout. 

You came to a stop, almost stumbling over the Mandalorian and losing your balance. He wasn't moving. He was lying face down, body partly covered in the snow. Ten more minutes and he would have been buried completely. You flipped him over and placed both hands on his chest. The rise and fall of it was barely noticeable, but he was alive, that's what mattered. 

“Hey! Hey!” You knocked on his helmet a few times but he didn't respond. There wasn't much time left. You had to get him home, you had to do it quickly or he'd be dead. You slid the rifle from under him and slung it over your back. Pulling the cloak around him, you placed his arms onto his chest and wrapped the cloak around his arms to save them from trailing uselessly in the snow. You crossed his injured leg on top of the other, grabbed onto both of his ankles and began to drag him. 

The first few steps were the hardest, but you managed to get into a rhythm rather quickly. You tucked his boots under your arm and kept your hands stuffed in your pockets. It was easier to pull him along the declining terrain. A particularly fierce gust of wind made you unsteady but you forced yourself onwards. It was only going to get worse. 

Fuck, this wasn't good. The footsteps were getting harder to make out, and you didn't have clue how far you had to go. How far did you run? The prospect of reaching home was fading. Were you going to die here? Freeze solid alongside the Mandalorian who had sought to deliver you back to your owners? 

You lost your balance and fell into the snow. Closing your eyes, you desperately wanted to give up. You couldn't do this. You couldn't fucking do this. 

It was so cold. 

You couldn't feel your hands. You couldn't feel much of your body anymore. The cold had hollowed you out. You just wanted to sleep. Curling up on your side, you realised you were laying on something hard, something that wasn't soft like the snow should have been. It was his legs. Looking back at him in exasperation, you grunted bitterly and got back onto you feet. You began to drag him again. 

Step after step. One foot after the other. The weight of his body. The harsh whooshing of the wind. The snow coming down on top of you, silent as death. 

You suddenly had to stop, there was no more snow in front of you. You were perplexed, wondering what was preventing you from continuing. It took you a moment to realise it was the entrance to the cave. Adrenaline began to seep into you again, your hands became jittery as you pulled him inside. You quickly shut the wooden door and ensured the tarp and the fur were keeping out the draft. You rushed over to get the fire going before brushing the snow off of him. Dragging him closer to the fire, you covered him with the furs from your bed. You added more wood to the pit until the blaze had grown large and hot. Above the fire, you filled the cooking pot with large stones that could begin to heat up. 

Your body finally started to react to the warmth. Muscles began to ache, feeling came back to your extremities in the most excruciating way, shudders made it hard to control your limbs. After brushing off the snow that had accumulated on your own furs, you took off the goggles and the coat. You were shaking so much. Groans and grunts escaped your lips as pain spread across your body. 

Looking down at the Mandalorian, it suddenly occurred to you that he might already be dead. 

The rise and fall of his chest assured you that he was still breathing. With one hand at his hips, and the other on his knee, you rolled him over onto his side. The wound behind his knee was bleeding only a little, much of the blood had frozen. You retrieved the cauteriser, sealing gel and some clean cloth and got to work fixing the wound. The acrid smell of the cauteriser against flesh was pungent. The scar would be a mess, but you'd done the job. Now that the wound was healed, you turned your attention to getting him warm again. 

You were about to remove his helmet and his armour to press the furs right against his body. He couldn't be seen by other people, it would be. . .desecration. Huffing out a sigh, you dragged him over to the edge of the bed before trying to lift him onto it. His dead weight was heavy, it was difficult to hold him steady. Sliding your arms under his shoulders, you heaved him up and swung his legs over onto the bed. You covered him up again, and used the fur coat to wrap around his helmet. 

The large stones had heated up well. You retrieved them from the pot with some tongs and began to slip each of them underneath the makeshift mattress on the bed. When you finished, you didn't know what else you could do. The Mandalorian hadn't moved, he was completely out of it. The only thing left was to slip under the fur blankets and curl up next to him, provide him with the little warmth from your body.

Hope that he would make it.


	2. Honour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and the kudos, it's been very encouraging and getting me to focus on the next chapter. Not sure how long this story's going to be, but there's a lot more coming. Hope you enjoy! :D

You woke with a start, the remnants of a nightmare still on your mind. It didn't feel as if you had rested at all, you felt exhausted. For a moment, you wondered what you were leaning against, it didn't feel soft like the fur blankets were. Reaching out, you felt something metallic that was moving up and down slightly. Blood rushed into your ears, it was the Mandalorian. He was lying next to you, tucked under the blankets. He hadn't woken, that was something. But the moment he did. . . 

You carefully climbed over him while holding your breath and moved quietly to the pit in the darkness. Striking the quartz several times against the metal slab caused sparks to fly out and light the kindling. With the fire now burning, you hurried to grab some rope and one of the spare fishing lines. After manoeuvring him onto his side, you pulled his arms behind his back and began to bind them together from elbow to wrist. His vambraces couldn't be underestimated. You tied his legs too, knowing that he would use every edge at his disposal. You kept the blaster and the rifle far away from him. 

A growling noise came from your stomach and you couldn't ignore the pangs of hunger anymore. You ate some protein bar, and kept chewing and chewing until it was mush. Swallowing it was difficult, it was made for nutritional value rather than taste. At some point you would need to retrace your steps and retrieve the bag and the Marika along with it. Peeking outside, it was still snowing though not as heavy as last night. But that could wait. Your guest was taking up your thoughts. 

Over the next few hours, you checked that the Mandalorian was still alive and sat contemplating what the fuck you were going to do. Your fingers clenched onto the blaster, knee bouncing up and down. This might be your only option. He wouldn't let you go, you knew that. Killing him was the only way you'd survive, the only way you'd continue to be free. Now that you had known such freedom, experienced it for these blissful months, letting it go was not something you could truly contemplate. 

Taking to your feet, you moved over to him and aimed the blaster at his neck. This could all go away, in a split second. You could bury his body and forget that he was ever here. Was your freedom worth that? Was your life more important than his? Your aim began to falter, teeth clenching hard as you tried to understand why you weren't going to fire. Letting out an angry sigh, you walked away from him, putting the blaster down. 

You had to try and negotiate. Wiping your wet cheeks, you tended to the fire and kept an eye on how the coat was drying. You were cleaning your goggles when the Mandalorian moved and sat up on the bed. He was still for a long moment, your heart was aching at the sight of him. How could he look so menacing even though he was securely bound?

“If you removed my helmet. . .” he warned, his voice low and threatening. 

“It was not touched,” you told him. “The stories of your people are known to me.” 

“Then you will know that this is not going to end well for you.” 

“I saved your life. Does that not count for anything?” 

“Untie me now, and I will see that you are returned unharmed.” 

You began to shake your head. “You can't. You can't take me back there.” 

“That's no longer a choice of your making.” 

“Can you not be offered something? Can we not make some sort of deal?” 

“I have already made a deal. To ensure your safe delivery back home.” 

“That place was never my fucking home!” You turned away, trying to keep the memories from spiralling in your mind. You couldn't help but picture the expressions on your owners' faces, the glint in their eyes, their cruel smiles, their restlessness on how to begin your suffering. It would be worse, so much worse that anything you'd experienced before. It would be more than punishment, it would be vengeance. 

You were about to plead to him again when you saw that he was removing the rope around his legs. Somehow he'd cut through the wire around his arms too. You frantically grabbed the blaster and pointed it at him. He stood to his full height, letting the rope fall into the floor. Dread and panic sunk heavy in your gut as he began to slowly approach you, not taking any notice of the blaster pointed at him. His limp was barely noticeable.

“Stop,” you warned him, voice weak and quiet. “Or I'll-” 

“What?” He asked coldly as he walked right up to you, the blaster now pressing against his chest armour. Suddenly, he snatched the weapon from your grasp and forced you up against the cave wall with a speed that shocked you. His arm was held tight against your throat, the blaster pushed into your stomach. “Or you'll do what?” 

You struggled to breathe as he applied more pressure, your arms latched onto his in an attempt to pull him away. 

“Let go,” he murmured, pushing his vambrace a little more against your neck to ensure that he was heard. You complied quickly as pressure began to build over your cheeks. “Tell me, did you remove my helmet?” With your arms uselessly flailing at your side, you couldn't take in any oxygen. You tried to reply, but the words came out as intelligible chokes of air. 

“Hmm?” The pressure relaxed only a little, enough for you to spit out the no. He seemed to consider your words for a moment before pulling his arm away. You sucked in breathes noisily while staring at the black visor of his helmet where his eyes should be. He turned you around, grabbed onto your wrists and tied them together with what felt like the wire you'd used on him. He kicked you down onto your knees, his hand latching on your shoulder to keep you from falling over. 

When he moved away, you didn't turn around out of fear for what he might do. You heard movement, shuffling. He seemed to be going through your things. Your eyebrows furrowed when he turned the cauteriser on. Had you not attended to the wound properly? 

He used it only a couple times before he shifted the tarp by the door. He was probably trying to assess the state of the weather outside. You thought you should say something, tell him that the storm wouldn't likely weaken until tomorrow. The tarp crinkled once more and you couldn't hear him make anymore noises. You strained your ears, breathed as quietly as possible but his movements were incomprehensible. 

You couldn't help but be afraid. 

Time passed, but the shifting ebb of fear never dissipated. Your legs had gone numb, but your shoulders ached from how he tied your arms behind your back. And yet he hadn't fixed you into a stress position. Perhaps he did want to ensure you were returned unharmed. 

You jumped when something was wrapped over your eyes. He tied the material tight around your head so you couldn't see anything. He moved away without another sound. 

Had he taken off his helmet? He was probably hungry and wanted to make for certain you couldn't see his face. The stories were true then, Mandalorians didn't show their face to any living beings. If you had removed his helmet, would you be dead already? No. . .he would have made you suffer for it. 

A part of you was convinced that the wrath of a Mandalorian would transcend any amount of anger that your owners might conceive over their lifetimes. He had not spoken for a long while now. It was unsettling. Other bounty hunters would have mocked you, boasted of the spoils they would enjoy, use you in any way they saw fit before they would claim their reward. Mandalorians had honour, a strict code they lived and died by. Whether that was to your benefit or your detriment, you hadn't quite worked out yet. 

“You're quiet,” he commented. He sounded close, too close, you couldn't help but shrink away from the noise. His voice was tinged by the modulator in his helmet, adding a slightly droid-like quality to his words. He roughly took off the blindfold. It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust. The Mandalorian was crouching down next to you on the left, his helmet was back on. You weren't sure if his comment was a compliment or not. He didn't say anything else and rose to stand. Maybe he was giving you the chance to talk. 

“How much. . .” You swallowed, trying to lessen the dryness of your throat. “How much are they paying you?” He didn't answer right away, but crossed his arms and seemed to consider how to answer. 

“43 Traqarii.” You couldn't help but scoff in disgust at the price, head shaking in disbelief. Of course they would undercharge, they cheated everyone they could, even when they had more than enough credits to spare. Even after what happened, they had not changed. “Something amusing about that?” 

“I was last valued at 81 Traq. Perhaps you should renegotiate.” 

“The deal had been made.” 

“And is it within Mandalorian code to go ahead with a deal that has been made without honour and when you are going to be swindled?”

“There is nothing of value here. Where do you suppose I will find the remaining sum exactly? I would, of course, have to let you go first so you can lead me to it, isn't that right?” 

“What? I am what the Traq is-”

“Enough.” Your eyes followed him as he moved to sit on the bed. He raised his hand, index finger moving in a slow circle, indicating for you to turn around. You faced the wall again, trying not to let your heavy sigh be audible. The price he mentioned was beginning to make you angry. They were merely going through the motions, using as little expenditure as possible. Did they truly never love their own child? Did you love their child more than they ever did? It was despicable, obscene, that a slave would love a child more than their own parents. You held onto the anger, thinking how little they would spend trying to recover their child's supposed killer. It was either rage, or the sorrow and grief would consume you. 

He tended to the fire every so often. That was the only noise he made. At one point, he untied you and gestured to the chamberpot. He watched the whole time, head tilting as if he was waiting for a reaction from you. He didn't seem to realise that you'd experienced far more humiliation than being watched while taking a piss. 

Afterwards he held out some water and one of the protein bars. You couldn't help but thank him and began to eat and drink slowly even though your stomach was growling for immediate satisfaction. He watched you carefully the entire time, as if you were about to make another run for it. When you finished, he secured the wire around your wrist and you resumed the position on your knees by the wall. 

If you could lean forward and place your forehead against it, you'd probably be able to get a few hours sleep. You could almost hear your owners now, when the Mandalorian returned you, with their elaborate and empty thanks for bringing home the murderer of their child. Your eyes began to water as you thought of her. You had tried to save her, and yet still they blamed you. It was in their nature, why would they ever take responsibility for their own failings when they had you? 

Leaning forwards, you squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead against the cold stone. If the Mandalorian returned you, it would be remembered that you were to blame rather than the true culprits. Their arrogance knew no bounds. They had silenced your warnings that their daughter's security detail was too small, they even had you beaten for speaking out. 

Going back to them would be wrong, wrong to her memory. 

You must have been half-dreaming when you felt something grab at your shoulders. You cried out and shook fiercely away from the tightening grip even though your arms were restrained. 

“Settle down,” the Mandalorian ordered. Recognising where you were, you stilled immediately and stared up at him. His helmet betrayed nothing, so your eyes returned to the wall in front. He reminded you of those faceless correction droids that you grew up with. They knew nothing but their programmed protocols, accepted nothing less than the designated standards. No doubt the Mandalorian had caught you asleep and had awakened you to amend your position. 

“Lie on the floor,” he told you, finger pointing to the ground. Looking down in confusion, there was a fur blanket next to you. He applied pressure onto one shoulder until you began to comply. 

“I'm going to tie your hands in front of you. Don't make me regret it.” After he untied the wire from your arms, you held back the groan as you shifted them in front of you. The ache in your shoulders was painful, the muscles protested against the movement. He secured your wrists together before covering you with another blanket. 

You didn't sleep for a long time after that, disturbed by the kindness he showed. 

\- - -

You realised after you woke that it was not kindness. He would probably not be paid the full amount of the bounty if you were not in excellent condition. The bitterness proliferated, the anger followed in quick succession. The Mandalorian had awoken before you, the cave was lit by the fire he was currently tending to. Instead of facing the wall, you fixed yourself in his direction, watching every movement he made. 

He looked over to you for a time and then continued stoking the blaze. Not long after that he placed the rifle across his knees and began cleaning it. A silent warning. But you did not move, simply watched and waited, becoming angrier as each moment passed. 

After a while, he walked over to the door, presumably to access the situation outside. 

“We will leave in a few hours. The weather has almost cleared.” As he moved away from the door, you rose to stand at full height.

“You don't deserve to wear that helm, or that armour,” you snarled at him. He stilled for a few seconds before he shifted forwards a step. 

“What did you just say?” 

“You have no honour.” 

“If you intend to provoke me. . .” 

“You are a disgrace to your creed.” He stalked towards you until he was within arms reach, hand resting on his blaster. You continued, unmoved by his aggression. “I saved you. Even though it was to my detriment. Nothing was gained from sparing your life. And yet still, you would seek profit. If you are not a man of honour, then you are man of greed. You will reap more value in my service than the price of my bounty.” 

“And what service is that?”

“I would do anything that you asked of me.” You knelt before him before you could truly consider the consequences of your actions. You would not go back to them. You had to honour her. This was the only way. “I. . .I offer you my duty. I will be. . .yours, until the end of my life. I pledge my fealty, my flesh, my service, and my blood to you and you alone.”

You bit the inside of your cheek until blood began to fill your mouth. Letting the blood spill over your lips, you pressed two fingers over your wet chin and wiped your fingers on one of his boots, then repeated the action on the other. 

“I beg you accept my offering.” You collected more blood before rubbing over the mark at the back of your neck. You curled over, tucking your tied hands into your lap, pressing your forehead against the floor in between his boots. The position felt so familiar after all these months. You wondered what mark he would choose to replace the old at the top of your spine. 

He stepped back after a few moments and then moved away until you couldn't see him. Would he reject you even after you offered yourself to him? Would your servitude not be enough to satisfy him? 

“Get up,” he said, you couldn't quite work out the emotion in his tone, but he did not sound happy. “Clean yourself up.” He threw a cloth to you when you stood. Getting to work immediately, you wiped off the blood on your chin and your neck, and swallowed the blood in your mouth. 

You noticed that he had cleaned his boots. You fixated on the sight with anguish, almost letting the cloth fall from your grasp. He wasn't going to accept you, he would decline your servitude. Hanging your head low, there was nothing else you could do. Your life had always been in someone else's hands, but you'd never felt it so acutely as now. The boots moved closer, he lifted your elbows until your wrists were held out towards him. He untied the wire, releasing you. 

“I. . .I won't take you back.” The Mandalorian spoke quietly. You stared at his boots and the fallen wire, eyes wide with shock as the words began to sink in. “But you will return with me to my ship. It needs to be dug out of the snow. Otherwise it would be a waste of fuel to get it all to melt.” 

“It is understood,” you immediately replied. A finger tilted your chin up until you were looking at the bottom of his helmet. You could not look at his eyes, or at least where they were meant to be now that the service had begun.

“Look at me.” You reluctantly looked into the blackness of the visor, where you supposed his eyes might be. 

“Do you understand the risk I'm taking on you?” 

“Yes. It is understood. There is nothing but gratitude towards you. You will be helped in any way you require.” The moment his gloved finger moved away, your eyes lowered once more. He stood there for a while before he moved away. 

You thought you might suggest retrieving the Marika fish so that he could have decent meal before the journey to the ship. But he had not asked you to speak, so you remained silent and waited for his command. He later directed you to sit, handing you a protein bar and some water. 

It wasn't long until you were dressing yourself, readying your supplies and preparing for the journey to his ship. You carried some tools with you, the shovel and pickaxe would help to clear off the snow. You gave him the newer pair of snow shoes, and settled with the older, broken pair for yourself. The snow would be too deep for boots alone. 

He gestured for you to leave, and as you went outside you took a moment to enjoy the silence around the cave. Storms always wiped the slate clean, the skies would be so clear. You could see one of the planet's three moons in its first quarter. You didn't know its name, but there was a simply joy in watching it as the weeks went by. The Mandalorian noisily closed the door, disturbing you from thinking of fond things. There was work to be done. He told you to start heading east, and you walked in front of him, trying to walk as normally as possible with the broken snow shoes. 

He spoke very little, only to correct the direction you were taking. The route took you several miles into the forest. Your mind wandered. You should have been concentrating, waiting until he spoke, anticipating what he would ask of you. The time spent alone had clearly deteriorated the training and skills you had learnt. You tried to remember certain etiquette lessons on preference contemplation, determining regular routines and habits, tailoring conversation to fit current inclinations or topical affairs.

But what kind of ship would he have? Was it only him? Was it always him alone? Did he only collect bounties? Or was he a mercenary too? Did he-

“-just up there.” You chided yourself for the inattention, you hadn't quite caught what he'd said. His voice did not carry the weight of a command or the intonation of a question. The end of tree line wasn't far away, he might have said where his ship was, but you couldn't see it anywhere. 

There was something next to one of the trees, it was a good three feet off the ground. Your pace slowed as you tried to work out what it was. He overtook you and headed straight towards it. He brushed off the snow to reveal a tarp, and underneath it was a speeder bike. After getting the engine going, he checked over the vehicle and began to load up your gear and the tarp onto the back.

“Know how to drive these things?” He asked, while untying his snow shoes. You replied with a no and an apology before he motioned you closer to give a quick summary of the accelerator and decelerator. When you'd taken off the snow shoes and he'd secured them onto the back, he told you to sit in front of him. 

As he gave the word to go, your body jolted backwards against him as the bike shot forward, one of his arms tightly wrapped around your waist. You hadn't expected the speed, and were glad the goggles were protecting your eyes. Travelling across the frozen lake, he had to raise his voice to give you directions and told you to slow down when the terrain wasn't as flat. 

You could concentrate on nothing but the journey, the air moving past you, the brightness of snow that had covered everything as far as the horizon, the whine of the engine as the bike raced across the landscape, miles and miles of it. Hours must have passed when he told you to go at a slower pace even though the terrain was flat. It took you a few minutes to realise where you were. This is where you had landed, where the final ship brought you to this frozen planet, Khorixas. You liked that name and its stories too.

You were the only passenger, there were two others who exported the cadmium that was mined here. The demand wasn't large enough for a more developed industry, it was just enough to trade for some supplies from off world. It was a medium-sized township, would have been barely been called a village on some planets. People from the local villages would come here to the market, for news, for a civilisation of sorts. 

The Mandalorian directed you to one of the buildings and you slowed the bike to a stop. Your legs ached as you climbed off and you unloaded everything strapped onto the back. He told you to wait and headed off without another word, presumably to whoever owned the bike to give it back, otherwise he would have taken you directly to the ship. You held the supplies and stood aimlessly in wait. Now and again a local would glance over you. They never seemed hostile or suspicious. Planets as small as this had the luxury of people knowing each other, being more trustworthy and open. 

It felt so strange waiting like this now. It had been such a large part of your life before. Your time had become your own, there was never cause to do anything without purpose. Half an hour must have passed when you finally saw him walking along the snow-covered road. As the locals passed him, they stared and looked back at him. They certainly viewed him with suspicion. Finding a Mandalorian here would have been something to gossip about for days. 

Did he even care? The attention he drew, the whispers and the eyes on him? You'd always existed in the background, being in his position would have been more than uncomfortable, it would be distressing. You lowered your head on his approach. 

“You're here,” he mentioned casually. “And looking down again.” There was annoyance now in his tone.

“Would you prefer otherwise?” 

“Guess so.” You eyed his helmet but not the visor, examining how the metal caved in where the cheeks were. He continued to stand there, not detailing where he had been or where you would go next. “Thought you'd be gone.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed at him. “It's not known where your ship is.” He hummed in response, the sound wasn't particularly negative or positive sounding. 

“I meant that I thought you would run.” You didn't understand him. He thought you would run? Run where? Did he mean in escape? You had pledged your servitude, gave your blood to him and he thought nothing of it all? Mandalorians were a strange people. They made pledges which they honoured until death, surely he would understand that more than anyone? You wanted to question him, demand why he thought so little of you, considered you a traitor to your own words not even a day since they had been spoken. 

You said nothing. 

“Come on, the ship is a few miles from here.” Instead of walking in front of him, you walked at his side. You kept trying to move behind him as it was meant to be, but he slowed his pace and kept shifting his position. You presumed he did not trust that you wouldn't take the opportunity to try and escape. The audacity of the man. 

The snow was deeper as you left the township, so you both put on the snow shoes. Walking next to him didn't feel right. Heading off by yourself was something you'd become used to, but this? Maybe he was trying to unsettle you, get you to make a mistake and have you pay for it. You didn't think cruelty was in his nature, but people had proven you wrong before. 

When his ship came into view, you examined it in admiration. He didn't seem like someone to have crew, so this was likely to be his, all his. He could go anywhere in the galaxy, any planet, any moon. That sort of freedom must have been intoxicating, filled endlessly with adventure. And yet he chose to roam the universe hunting people down, hurting them, killing them. You wondered how much pleasure he took in that. 

He showed where to climb up the ship to reach the top and you headed up with your shovel and pickaxe. Testing the depth, it appeared to be a good three feet of snow to get through. You began working hard, using your pick to break through the frozen snow and ice and then use the shovel to throw it onto the ground away from the engines. 

As you got lower, you were careful not use the pick too heavily, out of fear of damaging the hull. Though the ship was designed for atmospheric reentry and the void of space, you didn't want to antagonise the Mandalorian in anyway. Causing harm to his property, however minor, was best to be avoided. He was inside the ship for a long while, but later came outside to check on your progress. He climbed effortlessly onto the top with you, his boot scrapping against the ice to test its depth.

“Finish up the front, then come down.” 

When you completed the task, you wearily climbed off the ship, exhausted after all that work. You manoeuvred around the piles of snow as you looked for him. He stood inside, gesturing with his arm to join him. You hesitated for a brief moment before immediately rushing forward in hopes that he hadn't noticed the delay. It was dark inside, and the hatch began to shut behind you. 

Your heart sank as it closed. The Mandalorian directed you to leave your supplies in the corner and to follow, so you did. Panic began to swell. The fear of returning to them almost immobilised you. Had he lied? Was he truly not a Mandalorian? Would he incapacitate you now, no longer caring to hear your protests? Everything inside of you was screaming to run, to flee, to get out before he stole you away. 

But you had to obey. 

You followed him up a ladder, he directed you through a door into the cockpit and to the seat behind the pilot's. He initiated engine start up, and you felt as well as heard it. 

“I'm taking you back. It'll be a long walk otherwise.” His words were designed to appease and placate. You followed his instructions on how to secure the belt across you. The wondrous sensation of lifting off the ground did little to abate the turmoil you were in. The sooner you accepted it the better. The sooner you began to prepare yourself for what was to come, the better. 

Maybe. . .you wouldn't have to. You thought of the entrance door to the cockpit. If you got through that and jumped down the ladder, if you were fast enough, you could get to your supplies and to the hunting knife in your bag. The damage would have be done swiftly. 

From ear to ear, cut the jugular, hope that the blood loss would be too catastrophic before he could heal you. Or puncture the heart, with one swift movement. Both seemed to entail too much risk. Going into the skull through the temple. Yes, that would be the best option. It would be faster, safer. The Mandalorian would be right on you, he could use the grapple from his vambrace, drag your body towards him before you could reach the knife. 

You barely took in the ground as it faded from view. He passed up through the clouds as you quickly went over the plan again and again, anticipating what he might do, figuring out how to delay him. Even if it failed, what the fuck did you have to lose?

Going up through the atmosphere was the most critical part of the flight, you tensed your muscles, preparing yourself for what was about to happen. Your fingers slowly moved onto the buckle of the belt, trying not to give yourself away. Before you could release it, you noticed that the clouds were moving in the wrong direction, they appeared to be going up rather than down. The ship began to decelerate, the engines were whining as it came down to land. He landed smoothly without a jolt, the snow cushioning the ship. 

You couldn't move, unsure of what was happening. He was flicking off buttons here and there, the engines were going through their shut down procedure. When he finished, he stood up from his seat and gazed down at your chest.

“Nervous flyer?” He asked offhandedly. You didn't understand what he was saying. What did he mean? He pointed at your torso, and you looked down to see your hand clenching tightly onto the belt. You pried your fingers away. You lowered your head, trying to ignore how hard your heart was pumping, how the adrenaline was gradually beginning to wane. When he moved towards you, your body tensed, but he didn't strike you, merely unbuckled the belt. 

“Come on.” He gestured to the open door. You climbed down the ladder with shaky legs, eyes fixating on your bag. The knife was there, the knife was right there. The Mandalorian was suddenly by your side before he then moved to a side panel. You hadn't heard him come down. The hatch began to open and you wondered how this was going to play out. Was this some kind of trick? Tease freedom and the chance of escape, and then snuff out any chance of it. Is this when he would incapacitate you? 

You heard him say something, but you didn't quite make out the words. He stood holding out the bag for you. When you didn't take it, he picked up the pick and shovel which were tied together and pressed it into your hands. Mindlessly you held onto them, and he placed the bag of supplies over your shoulder too. 

“I don't know when I'll be back, but you'll be here when I do, understand?” His tone had shifted, no longer a trace of any informality from earlier. That had almost been a lighthearted joke compared to now. 

“Understood.” The word came out automatically, even though you still weren't quite sure what was happening. He walked with you to the hatch and you walked down it onto the snow, waiting for the grapple to snatch at your ankle once more and drag you back onto the ship. Maybe it would make him laugh, pay you back for stabbing him. 

The noise of the hatch closing had you turning around in surprise, wondering what was happening. The Mandalorian was no longer in view, it had closed completely. Why had he done that? You looked over the ship, trying to desperately figure out what he was going to do. There were weapons mounted on the hull, would he use them? Wouldn't they cut you in half?

The engine started up again, you stumbled backwards a few steps before falling over. Getting to your feet, you kept going until a safe distance was reached. 

Watching his ship take off and gradually fly up higher into the atmosphere had you utterly astonished. Had he just left? Was that it? Did he mean what he said? No, no that couldn't be right, what was this? What the fuck was this? The ship disappeared from view, and you watched the skies intently for a long while. It didn't make any sense. You were indentured to him now, you belonged to him. Why would he leave without you? Did he see no value in you at all? 

Slowly, you recognised where you were. The cave was not even a mile from here. The treeline was almost a stone's throw away. He had brought you back as he said he would. Did the Mandalorian have honour after all? 

Eventually you headed back home. When you had almost reached it, you realised that you were near where you had first spotted him coming out of the cave. Was that yesterday? No, the day before that. You remembered dropping the bag, along with the Marika that you had managed to catch. You had been looking forward to enjoying a good hearty meal. 

Untying the pick and shovel, you searched for the bag that had been buried underneath the snow. You traced back your steps and began swiping the pick through the snow, testing for anything solid. Ten minutes must have passed until you found the bag and managed to dig it out intact. 

Letting go of the shovel, you suddenly fell to your knees, body shaking, breath ragged, no longer able to hold back the sobs that wrecked you.


	3. Intention

A week had passed. 

What happened had felt like a fevered dream, all of it. You spent hours every day thinking of him, going through everything that happened. At night, restful sleep had decayed into nightmares as you hopelessly tried to get away from him. You fled in fear and utter panic knowing the monster was on the hunt. He was going to consume you, he was going to take you, he was going to eat your fucking soul. Even though you ran as fast as you could, he always found you. When he did, you would wake with a start, terrified that he was there with you. 

But you were alone. You wondered for how long. 

Another week went by. You tried to go back to the normal routine. When the weather was reasonable, you headed out to the lake to fish, but your heart wasn't in it. You had always enjoyed it, relished the walks you took, the familiar landscape, the trees, the skies, the snow. Now? It was like everything had been tainted, corrupted by his presence. 

It was hard to sleep at night. Not only did the nightmares keep you awake, but so did the endless thoughts that evolved solely around the Mandalorian. His orbit was crushing, and it felt as if you were suffocating under it all. 

The sanctuary you had built for yourself had been irreparably fractured. You no longer felt safe here, knowing that he could return at any moment. Now under his service, you were not free. You did not know what was expected of you, what he would demand. That unknown was dwelled on. At least before in your servitude, you knew exactly what was expected each and every day, each and every hour. 

You were stuck in this odd, wretched limbo where you were in another's service, and yet the days remained under the routine that you chose, under the choices you made for yourself. If you knew what was going to happen, preparations could be made for the time as it came. While he was gone, you could claim the time, enjoy it while it lasted. You thought you should be doing something. You felt aimless, lost. 

Three weeks passed until he returned. You heard his ship coming in to land where he did before, it was the only suitable place close enough that was unobstructed by harsh terrain or trees that surrounded the cave. For some reason, you began to walk out to meet him, legs operating automatically, with a mind of their own. You should have headed back home, enjoyed the freedom for little while longer. But then, you thought as you approached his ship, you weren't free anymore. 

There was something romantic about ships, the unlimited freedom they offered, the joy of discovering new planets, new planets, the excitement of hyperspace. You'd travelled on very few. The various ships you'd travelled on to get here held a special place in your heart. You dreamt of them a few times, of that budding anticipation taking off into the atmosphere, the darkening and widening into space, the streams of stars passing by at hyperspace. The exhilaration made you almost feel like a child, there was an unblemished purity to it all. 

As you approached the ship, you realised that the joy you had experienced was complete naivety, it was merely embellished by childhood fantasies. Now it was clear that ships were a tool for people to use as they saw fit and they were more than suitable in carrying misery with them too. 

The hatch opened, and he appeared a few moments after it had opened with a case in his hand. You noticed the stiffness in his left side, his arm was held close to him rather than swinging freely as he walked. Was he injured? Did he come here to heal and rest? Taking the case from him, he muttered a hello and told you to lead the way, gesturing in the direction of the cave. 

You walked in front of him. The steady sound of your boots underneath the snow, one after the other, was interrupted by his footsteps. It was off-putting to the rhythm you had become so used to. The case was rather heavy and you wondered what sort of implements he was making you carry. To think of the things that he may have in store, on this remote planet, with the closest people nearly a hundred miles away. At least with your previous owners, company was always near when you suffered. Comfort had been taken from that.

An acute loneliness began to set in, even though you weren't alone, even though the Mandalorian was following right behind. His footsteps seemed quieter, had he fell behind? Rather than looking back, you widened your stride and slightly reduced your pace while passing by the trees. After a while, the sounds of his footsteps returned to what it was and continued that way until you reached the cave. 

You kicked off the snow from your boots and opened the door for him. He went inside so you closed up behind him, ensuring the tarp and fur were secure in their place. He sat down on the bed, his head tilting back slightly as if in relief. 

“There's a medkit in there,” he mumbled, voice more ragged that you'd ever heard it. Your assumption that he was injured seemed to have been correct. The walk had tired him, even when the chase in the storm had barely affected his speech. Opening up the case, you starting going through the kit. He preferred that his own equipment was used rather than your own which was cheap. There were far better models of cauterisers available, the Mandalorian would probably have to invest in reliable gear for his line of work. 

“You seemed uh. . .pretty good with a cauteriser,” he commented, the compliment disguised him from asking for you help. How curious. He had removed the cloak and gestured to the back of his shoulders. It was in an awkward position, no wonder he asked for help. After grabbing his cauteriser and various gels, you took a closer look at the wound. He'd done the best he could and managed to mend the top few layers of skin to stop the bleeding. 

Did he have no one else to do this for him? A surgical droid could be hired at any spaceport for a small fee and complete the work efficiently. 

After putting on some medical gloves, you covered the wound with a cream that was an antiseptic anaesthetizer. It would have been easier if he had given you proper access to it and removed his clothes. You would have to be careful and keep the material away from the cauteriser as much as possible or you would fuse it into his skin. The wound appeared to have been caused by a blaster, you wondered who'd shot him. They were probably dead. 

You began to go deep into the muscle with the cauteriser. He said nothing for a long while. The only noise he made would be from the occasional groan of discomfort that he wasn't able to muffle. Going this far down into the muscle should have occurred right after he was injured. You wondered how long it took him to get here, why he delayed in receiving medical treatment. 

“I was only a few systems away, thought I'd come here.” The words almost made it sound like he was asking permission, like he was wondering whether it was acceptable for him to come here for help. You were unsure of what to say to him in reply, so remained silent. 

He was difficult to navigate, his meanings were lost to you at times. With his expressions covered by the helmet, you could only work with subtle intonations of his voice and the muted body language he displayed. 

When you had finished, he offered no thanks. He sat up and kept faced away as if in shame. Was it not acceptable for him to have been injured by an enemy? Or was it that you were touching his bare flesh? 

You did not understand his conflict. Bodies had no sanctity. Flesh was flesh and served many purposes. Perhaps he thought that being touched by a slave was degrading. No, that didn't seem right, the assertion didn't quite fit what you knew of him. He was a Mandalorian, there were strict rules that he had to adhere to, one of them had to have been regarding touching others. Maybe he could only be with other Mandalorians, anyone outside of their creed would be seen as unworthy. 

You would not take it personally. His shunning of you likely came from his own perceptions of the world, rather than your failings. An owner did not feel shame around their slave. 

It seemed such an odd concept, to scorn the touch of others, even though in his case it was for medical purposes. Surely that had to have been an exception to the Mandalorian way? They couldn't be that strict? It sounded preposterous. 

You began to wonder as you stoked the fire, how it would feel to be touched now. How altered the training had made you, how different it would be if you had never been a slave. They were things you hadn't thought of since you were a child. When you were young, you had clung to the memories of before, but they faded as the years passed and the training intensified as you came of age. 

Would you shun the touch of others when it was unwanted? There was never a choice. Truly considering it was difficult, it would need much care and attention to gradually foster the thought. It must have been nice though, to choose who could touch, to decide how you would be touched and when. Your existence had always been to serve and no more. Any considerations or opinions of your own had been carefully crafted and instilled upon you. It was only her that ever changed how you felt. Losing her broke something inside of you, something you didn't know still existed. 

The grief wasn't contrived or planned or managed by another. It was your own, solely and completely. It could only be experienced by you. It was like her death had reminded you that life could exist beyond other people. That you could have something for yourself. However ugly, however devastating. 

He was not holding his posture as he usually did. He must have been tired. You wanted to suggest that he lay down, take the time to rest and let the wound begin to heal properly. Had he eaten though? A good meal might satisfy him and encourage him to get some sleep. 

“Would you like some food?” You asked, thinking of the remaining root vegetables and the Marika you'd caught about a week ago. Instead of eating it, you had tucked it away safe, a subconscious action that was designed for this moment, for him. 

He stared without speaking, legs spread wide, elbow resting on one thigh, body hunched over slightly. You wondered whether you needed to clarify that you wouldn't be in his presence when he would eat. He made no movement so you spoke again. 

“You will be alone when you eat.” 

“Why are you doing that?” He sounded annoyed, you didn't have a clue why.

“It's not understood.” 

“You've stopped saying I. Why have you started doing that?” His query didn't make any sense. It was part of servitude, slaves did not refer to themselves. How could they? How would he not know how slaves spoke? Maybe slaves in other systems, the ones he knew, conversed in a different way. 

“Would you prefer otherwise?” 

“Yes, just. . .talk how you did before,” he told you, hand rubbing over his shoulder. 

“It is understood.” The movement stopped. Under the helmet, he might have been glaring at you. 

“I-I understand,” you replied, in the corrected way. When the conversation came to an end, you wondered when he would answer your query about making him some food. Instead, you began to prepare the meal without his direction. 

The few vegetables you had left were small and had seen better days. To you they were a treat, but they might be unappealing to him. You would have to take particular care with the food, ensure a correct amount of seasoning was used and the right length of cooking time was taken to create the tastiest meal possible working with what was available. 

He sat watching while you did it. He didn't lean back to rest on top of the furs, didn't get into a more comfortable position. You wondered what comforts he was used to, the food he ate, the luxuries he purchased. He did not seem frivolous. He dressed practically, offensively with his weapons and gear, defensively with the helmet and armour. You assumed much of his income would be allocated to his weaponry, to the upkeep of his ship. What else he spent his money on you couldn't guess. Mandalorians were fearsome warriors, a people shrouded in mystery and legend. But at least some of the stories were true, that Mandalorians did not reveal themselves to people, or to their own property. 

The meal was finished and you offered it to him before picking up your wire saw, knife and your coat. 

“If it is acceptable, wood will be. . .I will collect some wood for the fire.” He nodded in response. You headed off, ensuring that the door was secured before you left. It was strange to think that there was someone in your home. Especially someone like him. One of the local villagers you could picture enjoying a meal with, giving you advice on how to improve your snow shoes, telling you the stories of the old gods who had flung the planet far from the sun in retribution for its insubordination. 

His company was not hostile, but he was not friendly. You wondered whether other Mandalorians could break their fast together, and look upon the faces of their loved ones and their family. The creed of Mandalorians had a bond which was evident from the stories that were told. They seemed to consider themselves, and only themselves, as family. 

But he was strange. He had insisted that you look at him before, and now you had to refer to yourself in speech. Finding a younger tree, one of its branches was just low enough for you to cut and would provide a fair amount of wood. The stocks in the cave were already sufficient, but an excuse had to be made in order to leave him alone. More wood would never be unwelcome, only until there wasn't enough space to store it all. 

You paused for a moment, thinking of the compact space in the cave. There would be enough room to sleep on the floor by the bed without needing to move anything. If he wanted you further away next to the door, you would have to shuffle around some gear or sleep curled up. You took down the branch easily, used the knife to take off the smaller twigs and the wire saw to cut the branch into more manageable pieces. 

It was getting dark already. There were fewer and fewer hours of sunlight each day as winter pressed on. But you were far away enough from the planet's poles that you wouldn't lose the light completely. You wondered how long you would have to wait out here. You would wait as long as possible and ensure you announced yourself clearly before being granted permission to go inside. 

You got to work cutting up the branch into smaller pieces and it wasn't long before you finished. For a moment you stared at the small pile of wood. You'd experienced this many times, completing the simple task, but it didn't feel like it had before. Living on this planet had oddly given you little time to think. Focus remained on survival. A poor summer had given you little to keep for winter, and much of what you had gathered was sold for tools, furs and equipment that you couldn't survive without. You didn't expect that supplies in the lake would deteriorate to this extent. You didn't remain idle, with one chore came the next, all for another day of peace and freedom. 

You'd been thinking so much lately, dwelling on the Mandalorian. It made you feel unproductive. You could have cut the branch faster, but you were so preoccupied. You started to look for another tree, which was getting more difficult in the fading light. The temperature had dropped along with the sun. Your hand rested on a trunk, one of the branches looked a good size, but it was too high up. If there was more light, you would have climbed up, but you didn't want to risk injury. Walking further along into the forest, you found another suitable branch, and managed to finish quicker than last time. 

If you hurried, you might be able to find another good tree before it got completely dark. You wondered off, footsteps slow as you approached tree after tree. One looked old and dead, maybe it could be felled and a new one could- 

The sound of snow crunching made you whip round. He was behind you, a ways away, but he'd gotten closer than he should have without you hearing. Your head lowered deferentially before looking at him as he had requested. 

“Planning on cutting the whole forest down?” He asked, body leaning against one of the trees. You were unsure if he was being rhetorical considering the seriousness of his voice. 

“It was not my intention,” you replied to his question literally, wondering what to do with your arms. 

“Come on,” he murmured. He made his way back to the cave and you followed suit. As you neared one of the wood piles, you asked him whether some could be carried back. He mumbled something in vague agreement, so you quickly collected all that you could manage. 

Back inside the cave, the wood was stacked close to the pit so the heat from the fire would dry it all out. When you finished, you were unsure of what to do with yourself. He had finished the stew, and was sitting on the bed as he had before. 

“Food was good,” he mentioned, his elbows resting on his knees. 

“I thank you. It is pleasing that you enjoyed it.” 

“Will you make some for yourself?”

“The protein bar is sufficient.” 

“Those bars can barely be called food. Why don't you cook more fish?” You swallowed awkwardly, unsure of what his reaction would be to your reply. 

“There is no more.” 

“You gave me your last one?” 

“Yes, of course.” He scoffed in response, shaking his head at you. 

“I can't figure you out.” 

“It is not understood, I do not understand.” 

“Why didn't you run?” The more he spoke, the less he made sense. Was he referring to you fishing? Why would you need run for that? No, he must have been talking about you collecting the wood, he expected you to finish sooner. 

“Apologies. The wood will be collected faster next time. I will ensure it.” 

“What?” He sighed loudly, his shoulders heaving up and down. “Why didn't you run from here? Go off planet somewhere?”

“I am in your service. My place is where you wish it to be.” 

“You're serious about that, huh?” 

“You spared my life, in exchange for my service. Mandalorians are not the only ones in this galaxy with honour.” The moment the words came out of your mouth, you regretted them fervently. Automatically, you lowered your head, fingers digging into your palms. How dare you speak to him in that way. He was going to punish you for this. It was not your place to speak so bluntly, so rudely. Your insolence would be-

“Alright. If I need you for something, I'll come here. We have a deal?” Slowly, you looked up at him. There was no anger in his voice, he simply held out his hand. Moving over to him, you knelt down and bowed to him, holding his gloved hand with both of yours.

“As it pleases you.” He pulled away sooner than you'd expected and he got off the bed. 

“Get on your feet,” he told you. He spoke again when you complied. “Where I come from, we shake hands like this when an agreement has been made.” He took one of your hands and shook it once, grip firm but not suffocating. You nodded, but he kept hold of you for a long moment before he let go and returned to the bed. 

“If it is acceptable, I will collect the rest of the wood.” 

“It's dark out there and it's too cold.” He did not want to risk injury on his newly acquired slave, that would be a waste. You told him that you understand before retrieving one of the protein bars and tending to the fire. 

You wished you could tell him to rest. It was your responsibility to look after him now, and yet you had not been there when he had been injured. You should have helped to protect him. He obviously did not think you skilled or capable enough to do such a feat. His skills as a warrior would be far superior to your own. Your presence beside him would be a detriment, and you had already failed before. 

He must have known. Your former owners would have told him of your failures, some was true, the rest they would have embellished. Perhaps if you were left here, you could still enjoy some peace, and the freedom that you had so desperately fought for. 

Finally he laid down on his side, pulling one of the furs over his legs. You added more wood to the fire, ensuring the blaze would create more heat so that he could be comfortable. 

It wasn't long until he covered the rest of his body with the blankets. At least now he could properly rest. You kept the fire going for a good while until you decided to get some sleep. 

You put the coat back on, pulling up the hood before curling up on the ground by the door. You were cold, but not quite cold enough to shiver just yet. The floor of the cave seemed to suck the warmth from your body, and a comfortable position couldn't quite be found. You wondered how you'd gotten so petulant in such a short time, how you had adapted so quickly to the new comforts you had bestowed upon yourself. There was a time when you had slept on harder surfaces for such a long time that going back to a normal bed had felt wrong. 

The habit would have to be unlearnt. You wondered how many others would need to be as well. A fair few to be sure. The Mandalorian was different to what you had known. His culture was different, his customs, his beliefs, his attire, his manners, his speech. It was strange to think of those stories you had once known, the stories that you would sometimes tell the younger ones. They would have been so excited to meet someone of legend. You dwelled on the thought, trying to convince yourself that you should be lucky for the way he had treated you so far. You would have been suffering a far worse fate if it were not for his honour and his mercy. 

Gratitude should have been at the forefront of your mind, and yet you couldn't even conjure an ounce of it. The time that you had spent on this planet had focused your wants inwards. It would be difficult to replace them with his. But you must persevere. Your blood was pledged. Your life was his. He was all that-

“What are you doing down there?” He grumbled, voice hoarse like he'd just woken up. “Come over here.” 

You moved over to him, lying back down on the ground next to the bed. 

“Not on the floor. Get in the bed.” As you rose to your feet, he shuffled over closer to the cave wall, giving you room to lie down. You did as he instructed. He did not curl against you as expected, but ensured you were covered in furs, and kept one tucked in between you. Taking off the coat, you ruffed it up underneath your head as he was using the pillow. You kept yourself from breathing out a sigh of relief, this was far more comfortable than the ground. 

The Mandalorian stilled and said nothing else. He must have gone back to sleep. His words felt like there was a kindness to them, rather than he only wanted you to warm him and keep him company. Why were you expecting so much from him? Of course it was not a kindness, it was not done out of politeness. He had clearly seen the unevenness of the cave floor, and had deduced that it would not be a sound place to sleep. If he had let you remain, you would be less efficient for the next day's work. A logical choice, particularly as he had only recently acquired his new property. 

Last time you didn't have a problem with him sleeping next to you. Your body had been thoroughly exhausted. It had used every minute piece of energy to carry him back to the cave, fix up the back of his knee, make him warm and lift his dead weight onto the bed. When you had closed your eyes after everything that happened, you didn't think of anything. It was not like now. 

You were intensely aware of his presence, of the soft breathing that was only audible if you strained your ears and quietened your breathing to silence. He had shook your hand earlier. In his eyes, the agreement had now been made. You almost laughed, thinking how he had not even let you give yourself to him, he did it for you. 

The only thing a slave could give and he had taken it from you. That should have been a clear message, an obvious sign as to what sort of owner he would be. 

You must have stayed awake for hours, mind fixating on what happened, and what would come to pass. You swallowed down the nerves and the worry as best you could, but you still felt sick to your stomach, not knowing what he had in store. 

\- - - 

When you woke, you did not stretch as was the usual routine, you did not turn over and nestle against the furs to enjoy more restful sleep. He would want to eat soon. The protein bars were not sufficient, and he did not like them. You would have to go ice fishing, head out before the sun rose and prepare a few lines. 

You got the fire going once more, working quietly as not to wake him up. After preparing your gear, you closed the door behind you. It was snowing only a little. Even though the sun had not yet risen, there was enough light to make your way through the trees. You paused when you thought of the work from yesterday, there were still logs that needed to be collected. You'd completely forgotten about them. Chastising yourself for the absent-mindedness, you picked up the remaining wood, making a few trips back. You left the wood outside, not wanting to keep opening the door and drop the temperature within. The extra movement got your heart pumping a bit faster, body warmer in the cold. 

The walk to the lake was rather short, shorter than you expected. Your mind was distracted, as it was of late. Time was passing too quickly or too slowly, whichever was more distressing in the moment. Perhaps it was a remnant of your training. Thinking without purpose of things you knew little of was not correct form. You used the metal stake to dig down through the ice. It was getting deeper each time you did it. There might be a time when the stake wasn't long enough, you would need to plan for that soon. 

Finally you reached the water and prepped the bait and the line. Lowering it down the hole, you drove a small stake into the ice and tied the line around it. You walked off across the lake, a good hundred metres, and began the work again with a new line. When you finished a third, you took a moment to sit. 

Should you have left some sort of note to let him know you were leaving? Even if you wanted to, you had no writing implements, and waking him from his rest was certainly out of the question. You hoped he would not punish you. Walking back across the lake, you checked the first line you'd dug. There wouldn't be a chance that you'd caught something already, but there was a growing desperation to catch another Marika for him to eat. This might put you in good stead with him. 

The hours began to pass by. The sun eventually rose, lazy and bright across the sky. You cycled between the three lines every so often, hoping and waiting. You felt something begin to thrum in your veins, work its way around your chest, faster and faster with each passing minute. Your jaw was aching, and you realised you were grinding your teeth down hard. Frustration, that's what it was. The lines were pointless, the lake was not abundant as it had been, the protein bars were all you could offer. 

Picking up the metal stake, you drove it down against the ice, again and again. As you reached the water, you started a new hole, going down and down, harder and harder. The impact rippled from your hands up the muscles in your arms and shoulders, down and down. Thud. Thud. Another hole, down and down. 

It was beginning to hurt, and yet the pain was not sufficient for your shortcomings. If you kept making these holes around you, the integrity of the ice would fail and you'd drop down into the water. 

He would not like that. 

You finally let the stake clatter against the ice as you let it go. You had to return to him. After checking the lines, you walked to the cave, nerves making your pace slower than it should have been. 

He was awake when you got back, standing next to the pit. His body seemed tensed as if he had been waiting impatiently. You carefully secured the fur and tarp against the door, trying to buy yourself a little bit of time, but it was too late. 

“Where have you been?” He questioned. 

“At the lake. None of the lines have. . .I haven't managed to catch any fish yet but the lines will be checked when-”

“Did I ask you to do that?” Blood rushed to your ears. You felt vulnerable, unsure of how he was going to discipline your disobedience. 

“No. You did not.” You forced the words out, wishing you could have said it with some sort of title, Sir, Master, whatever name he gave you and preferred, but he had told you nothing and you would not presume unless explicitly instructed to do so. 

“I've got food on my ship so it doesn't matter. I'll be leaving soon anyway.” He's leaving? He did not say we, but was that because he did not consider you worthy to be included at his level? Would you be going with him? 

You nodded in response, eyes focusing on his boots, picturing where your blood had been. He had wiped it away immediately. Your former owners liked to show off the blood that had been spilt for them. They wore it on their clothes, never their bare skin. The memory of them was unsettling. All of the past punishments you had suffered were beginning to surface. What would he do to you? What would he do?

“Keep this here,” he told you, hand tapping the case he had brought with him. “Use it if you need to.” 

“I understand.” He wanted you to ensure that your health remained optimum. He looked after what he owned. 

“Do you know anything about electrical systems on older ships?” The question had you at a loss. Why was he moving the conversation on? Was he trying to mislead you? His head tilted so you quickly replied. 

“Apologies, I don't.” 

“Not many people still know how to fix the Razor Crest and I don't have time to learn the systems myself, so I was thinking maybe you could?” 

“Of course. I will learn them.” 

“I'll bring some datapads next time I'm here, if I can find any.” He began to retrieve his weapons, the rifle and the blaster, securing the former on his back and the latter in his side holster. His movements were slightly improved upon yesterday, but the stiffness to his upper body was still apparent. More time was needed for him to heal, he should have another day of bed rest at least. 

You didn't understand why he hadn't punished you yet. Would he wait? Make the dread build inside of you until it was so putrid that it became worse than the punishment itself? Maybe he had given you an impossible task to learn the electrical systems on his ship. Owners amused themselves at times by giving their property things that they simply could not do. Being disciplined was inevitable, it was guaranteed entertainment. 

He strapped the belt of small ammunition cartridges below his knee and clipped the belt around his waist. It appeared that soon meant now. With the coat already on, it was only a matter of securing the goggles over your eyes before you were ready to escort him back to his ship. He left the cave first, waiting for you to close the door and then he made his way through the trees. 

There was only a small patch of clear sky. Thick clouds were coming in, it would start snowing soon. At least the weather had held out for him. 

You walked behind him back to the ship, the Razor Crest. It felt more natural to be behind him rather than at his side. You still did not know how he would discipline you, and having him in front would mean you could at least see it coming. You felt on edge. If only he would just get the punishment over with, then you would know what he'd do, know how he liked it. 

With the ship in sight, he slowed before finally stopping and turned around. 

“I'll go from here,” he announced. You bowed to him. He shifted his weight in the snow, the crunch of his boots against the snow filling the silence between you. His cloak fluttered in the soft breeze. You wondered what he was thinking, what he was planning. 

He spoke once more. “Until next time.”


	4. Habitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this next installment! Thanks for the kudos and the comments, they are always a great motivator and keep me on track. Let me know what you think of this chapter, I can't wait to hear from you :D

The sound of knocking woke you from an odd dream. What exactly would be knocking? It didn't make any sense, so you simply assumed that it was simply your imagination. It was so disorientating dreaming that you were awake. You hated when that happened. But then. . .the knocking got even louder. Something was knocking on the door to the cave, three consecutive sounds, thud thud thud. No, someone. This was a dream, wasn't it? Who would-

You wrenched the warm fur blankets from your body and blindly half-ran to the door in the darkness, pulling the fur and tarp to the side before opening the door. A light shone towards you, but it wasn't directed at your face. The air was horribly bitter, the cold was already making you shiver. 

“Didn't mean to wake you,” the Mandalorian murmured. 

The light was coming from the side of his helmet. He must have been freezing waiting out there. He moved inside, so you closed up behind him. You were slightly dizzy from getting up so quickly but hurried to get the fire going. It was so cold outside, how long had he been waiting? He faced your direction while you completed the task, giving plenty of light to see the quartz and the slab. 

“I didn't realise what time it was here,” he said quietly, almost to himself while you were trying to light some kindling. 

As soon as the fire was lit, you grabbed one of the furs from the bed, lugging it over a shoulder. The Mandalorian turned off the light on his helmet while you approached him. You brushed off the snow from his shoulders and then his cloak, forcing back a yawn in the process. You grabbed onto the strap of his rifle, lifting it carefully over his head and trying to keep the shivers from affecting the movement. While you laid the weapon down by the pit, the memory of its pronged-end sparking with electricity didn't give you the pause it should have. Had he used a lower setting when he used it on you before? Or was the weapon not powerful enough to produce the sort of voltage you had become accustomed to?

With the weapon now out of the way, you wrapped the fur blanket around his shoulders to provide him some warmth. He didn't appear to be shivering too much, so you held back, rather than pressing your body against his to offer some heat. You knelt down, and took off the belt of ammo cartridges strapped underneath his knee. It was placed carefully next to the rifle. You were about to remove the blaster from the holster and take off the belt around his waist when his hand gripped firmly onto your wrist. 

“Apologies,” you murmured. He let you go, but his hand hovered in the air for a moment too long. 

“Would you like some hot food?” You asked quickly in an attempt to distract him. 

“No,” he replied, shifting away from you. “That's fine. I'll be warm in a minute.” You bowed your head in understanding and slipped on your coat. Even with the fire going, you still hadn't gotten over the chill of the air that he brought with him. He took his place on the bed, while you were by the pit. 

“You should get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning.” You did as he asked, and crawled past him onto the bed, not bothering to take the coat off yet. When it was too hot it would be removed. 

He didn't lay down, but stayed sitting and faced away from you. Why he had knocked in the first place? Why hadn't he come inside the moment he arrived? It didn't make any sense for him to wait. What was yours was now his, and that included everything in the cave. A possible reason, and the only one you could think of, was that he didn't want to tear down the fur and the tarp that kept the cold draft coming in. It was purely a precaution he had the foresight to consider. 

He had judged a shorter suffering of waiting outside in the cold would be worth the long term benefits of keeping the entrance intact. Mandalorians were practical. The skill was suited to his choice of work, where he would need to consider the best tactical move which was most beneficial to his wellbeing. 

You yawned a couple times, unable to stifle them any longer. At least it was warmer now with the fire. It would be even warmer if he laid down on the bed. But he sat turned away from you, the fur laid over the cloak on his shoulders. Why had he not waited on his ship? He must have sleeping quarters there. He had not asked you to do anything for him, so you didn't understand why he couldn't simply wait until the weather was more reasonable. 

Did he. . .did he want your company? For a brief moment, you felt an odd sensation of lightness in your chest, was this what being flattered felt like? No, no you were being ridiculous. How could you take his actions so personally? If he wanted his slave to keep him company, he had every right to. You were just a warm body, something slightly more alive than a droid. 

You stared at his back, thinking of when he would want you to do a little more than simply lie next to him. 

\- - -

He was awake before you were. You should have been up before him so that you could prepare a meal, ensure his needs were taken care of. 

He'd already gotten the fire going again, and sat by the pit tending to it. You got to work on his breakfast, cooking some Marika which you managed to catch and made a bone broth alongside it. Hopefully he would enjoy the broth. You made the fish like you did last time, as he had enjoyed that. 

While you were cooking, he held out a stack of datapads. You didn't notice him carrying them with him last night. 

“These are for you.” You thanked him and tried not to gawk at the amount. It would be months of learning specialist knowledge without access to practical work or demonstrations. He wanted you to study, to learn so that the electrical systems in his ship could be fixed. It must have all been some elaborate plan, with a sweet and satisfying ending which would be your agony and his pleasure. 

You hadn't learned anything like this before, it was so detached from everyone else. The training was always focused on others, how to serve them, pleasure them, care for them, protect them, entertain them. This was little bits of wire and circuit boards and small pieces of metal that needed to be bonded together. You weren't quite sure how you were going to get a firm grasp on all this information. 

He must have known what Oresian slaves were taught, and decided on something far beyond your knowledge and capabilities. Would he really be that spiteful? Or was it mere practicalities again? He was in need of someone to fix the systems, and he had acquired a slave to fulfil his requests without complaint, and even more importantly, without demanding payment or recompense for work that very few people apparently knew. 

Eventually you decided that a mix of both made the most logical sense, that he was being practical and that he was setting you up to fail. It seemed like he could justify it to himself because you were in his service and this was one of his needs, regardless of the fact that learning such complex work without any support would be very difficult for someone who had no experience in the field. 

You looked through the stack, trying to appear enthusiastic and curious. How quickly did he want you to learn this all? Would you need to spend night and day attempting to comprehend each datapad? Would he test your knowledge on his ship? What if you made some catastrophic error and compromised many of the electrical systems? The planet wasn't populous enough to have a spaceport. No one here would have the specialist knowledge to fix the Razor Crest. 

“Take your time with it,” he told you. He must have noticed the hesitation on your expression. “I'm not expecting you to become an expert overnight.” You continued going through the stack, trying to compress your real emotions and let the fabricated ones lift to the surface. You nodded in response to his words. After a few moments, you focused on the food and checked how the fish was cooking. 

It wasn't long before it was ready. Grabbing your coat, wire saw and the knife once more, you made the excuse that you were collecting more wood and went to the door. 

“Don't take so long this time.” You bowed to his order before leaving. How long did he mean? How exactly were you meant to know he was finished? You walked further out into the forest, deciding to cut only a branch or two. The multiple journeys you'd need to carry all the wood could be used to check whether he had come outside to fetch you. 

While you were stacking some wood outside the cave, he opened up the door, helmet in place, and told you to come inside. You carried an armful of logs, placing them by the pit, and you were careful not to get in his way.

“Do you like the cold?” He asked when you had finished. His question seemed genuine, without a motive laced behind it. 

“It's something I've gotten used to.” 

“Not sure how you can get used to that,” he replied dismissively. You had not answered correctly. You should have told him the opposite of the truth. Why did you continue to misjudge him and give incorrect replies? 

“Why did you come here?” He asked, there was almost hostility in his voice. “And not choose some desert planet? Some place a bit warmer?” The realisation sunk in. He did not appreciate coming to such a barren and cold place that you called home. 

“Apologies. If you wish to relocate to a more suitable planet, I will begin to-” 

“That's not what I meant,” he interrupted in frustration. “I was just curious, that's all.” He threw another log into the fire, and tended to it for a while as you tried to gather up the courage to speak again. 

“The name, I. . .liked the name.” 

“Khorixas? You came to this planet because you liked the name Khorixas?”

“Yes, and its stories too.” He shook his head at you. You told the truth again and yet it still wasn't right. Why was nothing you ever did right? You had to try again. 

“The planet is barely habitable and home to only a few. It was hoped that I would not be. . .found.” 

“Well you won't be. Not by anyone else I mean. I told the people who had commissioned your bounty that you're dead, and your body was unrecoverable. They didn't pay me anything. . .though I'm guessing that wouldn't be a surprise to you.” 

“No. It's not a surprise.” 

“They seemed pretty angry about it too. They told me that you killed their daughter.” You froze, eyes widening at his words. Forcing your expression to blank, you tried to contain the turmoil seizing at your veins. He knew, that was obvious from before, of course they would tell him that. But to hear him vocalise it, to say it out loud, caused a hurt that you hadn't expected. 

He was waiting for an answer. Though he did not explicitly ask, his focused remained unwaveringly on you. Swallowing down the anxiety, you managed to force out a response. 

“I couldn't save her.” That was all that could be said. You should not have obeyed them, you should have done what was right, you should have listened to your gut, you should have taken her away, you-

“You should eat something.” Your head juttered out a nod to his command. He didn't ask anymore questions while you ate some protein bar. Most days you would cook it as a broth and add some flavourings to make it more palatable. But you didn't want to delay obeying him. 

“Next time I'll bring some real food, well. . .better food.” 

“Apologies. Winter was not prepared for correctly. I will ensure more provisions are stocked over summer.” 

“What food do you get over summer here?” 

“When the snows melt, there are vegetables, nuts, some edible plants, but no fruit that I've seen. Animals come out of hibernation, there's some small game, some large. The lake is more abundant as well.” He nodded slowly, but said nothing. You felt as if your answer was inadequate. 

“I have located a spot for a garden and it will be tended to when spring comes.” 

“And when's that?” 

“Several months from now.” He said nothing in response and didn't engage in conversation for a while. You ate only a little more of the protein bar, not really having much appetite. He began cleaning his weapons, so you kept busy with your own tasks, chopping up some logs with the hatchet, attempting to fix the broken snow shoes. The frame needed to be replaced completely, but the wood it was made out of wasn't found anywhere close to the cave. The closest tree of its kind was a day's walk away. 

You did your best trying to botch up what you could and added more support to the frame. 

“You're not like anyone I've ever met,” he said quietly, as if it was an admission. You looked up from the snow shoes. He was staring, his hand lay across the rifle on his lap. There was a light blue triangle on the white armour plate which protected the back of his hand. The end of his glove was orange, almost down to the knuckles. You didn't know whether to apologise or thank him, so you chose the safest option and did neither. 

“Nor are you, as well.” He let out a puff of air to your response, but the noise wasn't quite a sigh or a scoff. He continued to watch, his helmet lowering slightly as if he was taking all of you in. Was he disappointed in what he saw? Was he ashamed of you? He turned away, as if being broken from a daze. 

“I've got some bounties to return, but I'll be back soon. Next week maybe.” 

“I understand.” The reply was automatic. The words then began to settle as they were understood. “There are bounties on your ship?” You asked, unable to stop yourself from voicing the question. 

“Only three. They're not exactly going anywhere if that was your concern.” You managed to keep the emotions from showing on your face. He had prisoners on his ship and he had just left them there? Did they not need to be fed or at least monitored to ensure they remained confined and uninjured? You did not allow yourself to ask anymore questions, regardless of how they kept bubbling to mind. How did they all fit onto the ship? The Razor Crest seemed far too small to house three individual cells with hygiene and feeding units in-

“I should get going before nightfall.” He took to his feet, and you swallowed nervously. His words had unsettled you deeply. For some reason, you had thought that he would be very professional, as he had been with you. He would find his bounties, and keep them in excellent condition before delivery. But now you wondered how wrong you were. You pictured the Razor Crest, wondering where the prisoners were. Did he have bounties on board when he flew you back here those weeks past? What was he doing to them? 

You hurried to retrieve the belt of ammo cartridges and knelt down to strap it underneath his knee. No more mistakes could be made. Everything had to be done correctly. He already had his rifle and his blaster. You offered him a fur to keep him warm but he declined. 

The walk with him to the ship was quiet, the sound of boots against the snow was focused on. You felt so uncomfortable thinking of the interactions with him, disappointed that your answers did not please him. The suffering to come would be worse as you had not experienced any for a long while. You were becoming more nervous, fearful of what punishment he would use. He was delaying for now, more than likely he was keeping a long list of each of your mistakes so that the session would be drawn out to his gratification. You had to focus on the datapads too, learn all that you could if it was possible. You had to please him. 

It was the only thing that mattered now. 

\- - -

Your teeth clenched down hard on the piece of wood lodged in your mouth. You were laying face down on the bed, elbow braced against the cave wall. You puffed out three quick breaths of air before lowering the cauteriser onto the back of your neck again. The cry of pain was muffled, you were biting down so hard on the wood that you feared some teeth might crack in the process.

Your free hand punched the side of your waist in an attempt to offset the burning pain of the cauteriser. After ten seconds you couldn't take anymore, you spat out the wood and sighed heavily in relief. Reaching to the mark on your neck, you realised with a familiar dread that it could still be felt. The cauteriser needed to go further, right down to your spine. These types of brands weren't made to ever be removed. 

With tears welling up in your eyes, you stuck the wood in between your lips and braced yourself again. The time on this planet without punishment had degraded your pain tolerance. You turned on the cauteriser once more, the acrid smell of it pungent and making you nauseous. The noises coming out of your mouth were giving you a headache, even if they were muffled. 

You paused again, hand was shaking, throat hoarse, cheeks wet, your waist would be badly bruised considering how many times your fist had impacted it. Your eyes wondered over to the case the Mandalorian had left. His equipment was better, his cauteriser was too, it had more precision, more efficiency. But you couldn't misuse it, you were only allowed to use it if the situation called for it. You were not injured, this was merely a gesture, a representation of the servitude you had pledged so that he could begin afresh on an unmarked canvas. 

You used the cauteriser once more before stopping. It was the ninth or tenth time you'd done this over the last few days. There was still a fair way to go. The exercise also broke up a schedule of intensive studying. The datapads had made little sense at first, it was difficult to understand the speaker who didn't seem to introduce the subject, but started somewhere much further along. The stack was ordered incorrectly and misnamed. Sorting through them had been a task in and of itself. 

The first couple days, you'd felt utterly clueless. The fear of disappointing him was making it hard to focus, it was difficult not to panic. After the datapads were organised, you felt as if you had made some progress, however little. Most of your day was consumed now by the learning. Your day to day chores were pushed aside. Getting less sleep allowed you to assign more time to the task he had given you. When you did retire to bed, your mind began to conjure what sort of sadist he was, what pain he took the most pleasure from. 

The violence that he had experienced and committed shrouded his every movement. His marked and battered armour, his cared for weapons, they were everything. Everything that he had. Everything that was sacred. Violence was his companion and you had became deftly aware of it. Waiting for him to strike you, to punish you for the indiscretions you had committed, and there were several now. It was getting more difficult to keep track of the growing number. 

It would have been easier if he had taught the lessons as they came rather than waiting for the opportune moment when everything reached boiling point. Could he not force you against the cave wall again, keep his hand squeezing your throat, controlling your air supply to demonstrate who he was, and what you were to him? The physicality of the punishment was easy to understand, the lesson sank in. But now you were getting lost in the despair and the dread and the fucking anticipation of him laying it all out at once, at his leisure.

You were afraid of his return. 

\- - -

The sound of the Razor Crest coming down to land could be heard from the cave. You quickly cleaned up as best you could, stacked the datapads to one side, rearranged the furs on the bed before grabbing the coat and hurrying out to meet him. He was already off the ship by the time you'd arrived and had piled up several small crates on the bottom of the hatch. 

“I've got some food here. It's nothing special, mostly ship rations. But they're a sight better than those protein bars of yours.” 

The crates were heavy, so you carried one at a time. The Mandalorian carried one with him as he followed behind you on the walk back. 

“How. . .how have you been?” You almost lost your footing when you turned around to face him, unsure of his meaning. Of course he must have been referring to the datapads, he wanted to know how the studying was coming along. 

“I am progressing with the datapads you issued to me.” 

“Oh,” he replied, something akin to disappointment in his voice. “Right. Well that's. . .good.” The answer you gave him didn't appear to be the right one. 

All the years you'd spent training to understand other's people emotions, needs and wants, you still didn't understand what the Mandalorian felt, whether your actions were pleasing to him or not. 

He had a confusing way about him. The authority of his presence and the commands he would give you made the most sense. But then he seemed to care in an odd way, care more than what was appropriate. Why did he ask of your well being in such a manner? 

He must not have had a slave before. That must have been it. He was still trying to understand what his position was, and what your place was. He did not understand the ways in which owners and slaves worked. He always had his own way of doing things, regardless of whatever it was. You weren't sure if that was because he was a Mandalorian, or because it was simply him and how he perceived then acted upon the worlds he encountered. 

Did he desire more normal conversation? The ones that equals would share? That seemed to explain his disappointment. 

“How have you been as well, if I may ask?”

“I got paid, so pretty good.” 

“Do you not always receive the prizes for the bounties you recover?” 

“Mostly I do, but sometimes people don't have the credits, or they want to pay me with something that's worthless.” At first you thought he was taking of weaker currency, but you wondered if people offered him their service as you had, is that what he deemed worthless? 

“It must be difficult for you not to be paid for the . .expertise you offer.” 

“Comes with being a bounty hunter. But I'm still flying so, it can't be that bad.” You queried how long he had the Razor Crest for, and after he replied you managed to continue the conversation until the cave came into view. The food crates were carried inside. You would need to rearrange some of the supplies to fit them in properly. 

It only took one more trip as there were two cases of food left. You wondered how long he would be staying this time. As you thought of how many months of supplies these crates were worth, the extent of his presence in your future suddenly shot into focus. It was something that had never really set in. You had pledged your lifelong servitude to honour someone who you had failed, someone who should never have been lost. You had given yourself to him because it was the only thing you could offer. You could not go back to them. 

Since you'd met the Mandalorian, you had only thought of the next time he would come. You had been so engrossed by fears of what he might do, what he could do, that the permanency of your position never truly sunk in. He could sell you. He could pass you on, he could pass you down to his own. 

Before you came to this planet, that was all you had known. But with these months of freedom came agency, and perhaps that was the greatest punishment of them all. You could not miss what you did not have. And now, after you had experienced it for a short time, you were beginning to miss it most ardently. 

He opened one of the cases, taking you through the ration packets and giving advice on which food complemented each other, and what to avoid mixing. He picked out a packet for himself and directed you to help yourself to one. His fingers played with the packet, like he wanted to eat it now. You wondered if he had enjoyed the food you gave him at all. 

“Is there anyone else who lives around here?”

“There is a small village less than a hundred miles away.” 

“Why don't you live closer to it?” 

“This cave is positioned well amongst the trees here, and with the lake is nearby. . .” Your reply drifted off when he glanced upwards for a brief moment before shaking his head gently, seemingly in irritation. 

“You never answer anything the way I expect you to.” The ache rolled off your heart down into your gut in one painful manoeuvre. You froze, waiting for him to speak again, waiting for him as you always had to now. He was flipping the packet, round and round, index finger and thumb pinching the ends. 

“You walked a long way from that township. I thought there might be something here, something that you came here for. Not just because it was out of the way. Or because you liked the name,” he joked cruelly, as if he was certain your answer was a lie. He did not believe you, even when you told the truth. How had he seen the truth when you told him you did not remove his helmet? Could the only way he was able to ascertain fact be to choke it out of you? Why couldn't he do it? Why couldn't he just fucking do it right now?

“You should finish that,” he gestured to the packet in your hand, the food had spilled out onto your palm. You immediately wiped yourself clean and swallowed down the food without tasting much. He took a pause at the speed you had finished the packet, and he no longer fidgeted with his own.

“Put this on,” he told you, pulling out a piece of cloth from his back pocket and tossing it over to you. For a brief second you didn't understand what he wanted until he lifted the rations up slightly. He was going to eat? He was going to eat right now while you were blindfolded? While you were inside? This didn't feel right. Was this a test? 

“It's better if you don't keep going outside all of the time,” he explained. But the explanation was lost on you. He must have wanted to ensure you were close for whenever he required you. Before he had been unhappy that you stayed outside for so long. He only had the time for short visits to come here, a limited period to enjoy his property, and he would get the most out of every moment. 

You took to your feet and knelt down facing the wall as was done before, tying the blindfold around your head. He had presumably removed his helmet to eat something while he had you restrained in this position. This was not completely outside of the norm, it felt more right. You heard a soft noise, like a word had caught at the back of his throat, but he didn't say anything. It would have been better if he tied you up, just so you didn't have to keep your arms still at your sides. 

Maybe you should have placed your hands behind your back, but it was too late to move now. The packet crinkled, he must have opened it. Had he taken his helmet off already? You wondered how protected he must have been, not physically, but emotionally. He never had to conceal any expression he ever made. His face never had to be judged by anyone or anything. It must have been nice to have grown up like that. To not be assessed constantly, to not have his emotions monitored and scored and evaluated. 

Did he think you were hiding something here? Something of value which you were trying to keep away from him? It was disconcerting to understand him so very little. It put you out of sorts, it seemed to be making you worse, making you grasp for replies which were even further from what he expected of you. You would need to go over every single word he spoke, the tone of his voice, his minute shifts in body language. The evaluation you had done so far was clearly not enough, obviously deficient. That must have been another skill that had deteriorated over time. 

“What did you do to your neck?” The sound of him being so close almost made you jump, but you managed to control yourself. You turned to the direction of his voice. 

“The cauteriser was being used to remove the. . .mark.” You felt his hand at the back of your head, urging you forward slightly. He hummed in dissatisfaction. 

“You didn't use my cauteriser, did you?” 

“No, I did not.” 

“Why didn't you?” Your mouth parted open to respond, but you hesitated for a moment, thinking back to when he spoke about it. He said to use it when you need to. His cauteriser was not urgently needed, removing the mark was not medically necessary. The cauteriser you had acquired was still functional and adequate, though less efficient that his own, so it seemed most appropriate. “I told you to use it.” 

You didn't understand. You were so confused. How had you got this wrong again? What the fuck was wrong with you?

“I am sorry,” you told him sincerely. He untied the cloth wrapped over your eyes and you immediately glanced down to his boots as you knelt before him. His finger gently lifted your chin upwards. He'd asked you to look at him before. Why hadn't you remembered? Stop making these fucking mistakes. You kept looking at the visor while his hand moved away from your face. 

“You want that gone, hmm?” 

“Yes.” 

“Come on. The bed's more comfortable,” he told you, head tilting to the direction of it. When you complied, he retrieved something from the medkit. He sat down next to you, leg almost brushing against yours. You turned to the side, giving him access to your neck. His hand rested against the back of your head, leaning you forwards slightly. He began to apply a cold gel to the top of your spine and the dull ache that was once there started to fade after a few seconds. 

His gloved fingers worked the gel into your skin, his movements were gentle, almost leisurely. The sensation was gratifying, calming in its delayed motion. Over a minute must have passed, and he kept going and going. Your eyes slipped shut. You didn't want it to stop, the touch made you lean back slightly for more. The hand supporting your head corrected the movement, pushing forwards as it was before. 

“That doesn't hurt, does it?” 

“N-No,” you mumbled, swallowing nervously. You suddenly came back to your senses, wondering how you'd become so entranced by such little effort. You had to have your guard up, now would be the perfect time for him to grab you by the throat and punish you for not using his cauteriser as instructed, for not looking up at him as ordered. You even dared to lean back against him for more. You were stupid. Pathetic. He would touch you when he wanted, your desires meant nothing. Your desires should not exist. There were his and his alone. 

He turned the cauteriser on and you managed not to tense at the sound. When he lowered it onto the back of your neck, the pain didn't come as expected. The numbing gel had turned it into an uncomfortable itching. It was almost pleasant compared to the agony you had endured. It took him a good fifteen minutes for him to finish. The discomfort did get worse but he stopped using the cauteriser and massaged more gel into the skin. You tried not to enjoy it, to no avail.

As he finished, you shuddered when his finger gently traced over where he'd been working. He then got off the bed, and packed his supplies away into the case. 

“The scaring won't be pretty, but the mark's gone.” You thanked him, but he didn't look over to you. 

“You said you were making progress on the datapads?” He queried, moving over to the stack and picking up the datapad at the top. You began to take him through what had been learned and what you understood, though you were certain you'd muddled up some things and confused various terminology. He seemed pleased nonetheless and you had to muffle a loud sigh of relief. At least you had done this right, and you knew he was not disappointed with the work that had been done so far. There was much more to do however. 

After speaking for a long while with each other, the conversation lulled into comfortable silence. He inspected and cleaned his weapons as he tended to do. You busied yourself with minor tasks which were plentiful considering how much time you'd been using to study. Taking a log, you'd pulled off the bark and stripped down the wood into thin pieces for kindling. It was always important to keep a good stock, you had to pay more attention to it in the future. 

Thankfully he had not noticed or did not think it worthwhile to chastise you for it. When you found a rhythm to the work, you glanced over to his gloves, watching him disassemble part of the rifle to clean it. 

Had you ever coveted the touch of another? No memories could be recalled. There was this ache inside of you now, hollow and yearning to be filled. It wasn't something you'd ever experienced before. The desire that you displayed was always carefully considered and managed, too much for certain people would be off-putting, too little would be discouraging for some. A balance needed to be struck and preserved until the session was over. Whenever you were touched, it was always second to their pleasure. Focus had to be maintained on the noises you were making, whether they sounded genuine, whether they were pleasing to the ears, whether they were wanted at all. 

Examining his covered fingers now, you wondered what they would feel like on your face. He had touched your chin before, but what of your cheeks? Could he not hold either side of face? Press the cool metal of the helmet against your forehead? Praise you for the work you had done? 

You sucked in a breath when sharp pain throbbed at your finger. The knife had slipped while you were distracted, blood was spilling from the torn skin, already dripping onto the ground.

“Are you alright?” He asked. You clenched your fist, tucking the finger into your palm to hide the blood. 

“Yes, I am fine.” You continued with your work, trying to conceal the wound as best you could. The noise should never have escaped your mouth, you'd taken far more punishment than a small cut in complete silence. As you continued to awkwardly split a log, your heart panged as you noticed him standing in front of you. When had he walked over? 

“You're bleeding.” 

“Apologies. I will clean up the mess.” As you put down the knife and the wood to retrieve a cloth to clean the blood, his hand went around your wrist. The grip was almost soft. He lifted your hand up to inspect the cut. He released you, and moved to open up the medkit again to retrieve some supplies without saying a word. 

This time when he applied the numbing gel to your finger, it barely took a second for him to cover the wound. Maybe you should have cut all the way down your arm, who knew how long he would take then. He turned on the cauteriser and mended the skin quickly. 

“Be careful next time,” he told you when he was finished. He did not seem annoyed or enraged. 

“Yes, I will,” you promised, nodding slowly, combining it with a bow. He resumed his work cleaning the rifle. You examined the freshly healed skin, thinking how your owners had never healed you. They merely did the opposite. He was letting you get comfortable, he was gaining your trust day by day. It would make the inevitable punishment all that more sweet. 

You felt like you were spiralling. Your thoughts were alarming, the imaginings of his gentle touch were all encompassing. It was like your body knew what he was going to do, knew that the pain would follow, and before that time came it would relish in whatever comforts it could find, no matter how false. 

Being this distracted was dangerous, not only because you'd accidentally cut yourself, but because you were getting lost in the fantasies. You couldn't look at the Mandalorian without thinking of his touch now, of his kindness. He had shown it before you were indentured to him, when he had tied your arms in front of you, gave you a fur to sleep on. That was more than him simply wanting to keep you in excellent condition. He didn't need to do that, the cave wasn't cold enough to be a genuine threat to your health. 

The sun must have set by now and he had not left. Maybe he would leave in the dark as he had arrived before. He picked out one of the ration packets before you could offer to make dinner for him. He held out the cloth so you returned to kneel in front of the wall and covered your eyes completely, making sure you couldn't see anything. He did not correct the position. This would now occur every time he ate. You supposed it was a little easier not having to make the excuse of going outside. But with the studying keeping you so busy, the stock of wood in the cave was not at the level you would prefer it to be. You would need to make time for it when he had left. 

You also needed to pay more attention to what he was eating, inspect the empty packets, perhaps enquire what he preferred. When spring came, you would be able to plant the foods that he liked. Though what was growable was limited, there must have been something he enjoyed, or at least you hoped. 

You felt cold which wasn't normal for this time in the evening, and would tend to the fire when he had finished his meal. The tarp and fur at the door would need to be checked as well, to ensure that a draft wasn't coming in.

It wasn't long before he told you to remove the blindfold. You completed the tasks that were planned before picking out one of the food packets. He told you it was better warmed up, and spent some time cooking it. You were glad for the hot food and enjoyed the sensation of it warming your belly. When it had been eaten, you returned to splitting up some wood, taking extra care to be more attentive and not let your eyes drift over to him. 

The time soon came when he retired to bed. He unclipped the belt around his waist along with the holster for his blaster. That was the only thing he removed. He got under the furs, shifted over to the wall like he did last time. You may have been misjudging the situation, he might not want your company tonight. 

“Don't even think about going on the floor again.” You closed your mouth when you realised it had fell open. After adding more logs to the fire, you laid beside him. He positioned a fur in between you and turned onto his side so that he was facing the wall. 

Without the menial tasks to focus on, your mind slipped back to the enveloping thoughts of his touch, of how he had taken care of you. He removed the mark completely and used numbing gel so that it wouldn't be painful. In truth, it was a waste of his supplies, he should have made you suffer. Then he fixed the cut on your finger and said to be careful rather than berating you. 

He reminded you of her. She had acted out of kindness many times without motive, or expectation. She had to act a certain way around her parents, but she was different when you were alone with her. A pang of grief came alongside the memories, and you focused back on the Mandalorian. The fear you had of him, the relentless anxiety was difficult to shake, but the more you thought of his actions, the more the fear seemed to lessen as a result. 

You were still awake when the fire had dulled down to embers. You kept going over and over in your head what the Mandalorian had said to you, what he had done and what he hadn't. There were many transgressions he had overlooked or had willingly let by. But a point would be reached when his good will would come to an end, when the number of mistakes was so great that he would have no choice but to punish you for them. He had to make certain that the oath that you had pledged was being fulfilled. 

You felt a subtle shaking on the mattress and wondered what it was. Reaching your arm out towards the fur in between you, it was shifting ever so slightly, as if he was shivering. You carefully got off the bed and got the fire going again before slipping back under the blankets. 

You moved the fur that he'd laid in between you over him, and shifted closer to him until you were nearly pressing your body against his back. His body tensed. Was he awake?

“Is this acceptable?” You asked in a whisper, hoping that he would not reject you. 

“Uh. . .yeah. It's fine,” he softly murmured back. You kept your arms away from him and didn't move them forwards to hold him. That seemed to be a step too far, a step that he would not appreciate. His shivering ceased after a few minutes and you were glad. You'd need to tend to the fire throughout the night so that he could remain warm as he would not want to rely on your body heat. 

How different would things have been if he was not a Mandalorian? He would have taken you back, he wouldn't have the honour of Mandalorians. You would be suffering a slow and painful death, maybe you would have died by now. You never really thought about what he looked like underneath the helmet. It didn't matter aside from the fact that if his face would have been uncovered, you might have been able to make less mistakes if you could see his expressions, and work out his meanings. 

He didn't sound younger than you. That's the most you could guess at. He was more than likely human, but you couldn't be entirely positive about that either. He bled like one at least. 

Would he ever take off the helmet? Would he, when he truly considered you and accepted you as his? Or was that honour reserved only for his equals? For other Mandalorians and those who swore to their creed as he did, to those that wore the armour and obeyed their rules, to those that honoured and embraced the Mandalorian religion, the violence of their warrior ways. The fire was dimming down already. You slowly moved away from him, about to get off the bed. 

“Where are you going?” 

“The fire needs to be stoked.”

“You don't need to do that. Don't get up, just leave it.” You obeyed his command and remained on the bed. You watched the fire die down completely, mind still thinking of him, wondering why he would not let you stoke the fire. As you were not pressed up right against him, there was little warmth you could offer. 

It wasn't long before he started shivering again. Without the option of the fire or holding him, the only thing you could give him was your fur. Very slowly you shifted most of it over to him, laying it on top of the furs already resting over his body. If he would allow you to get off the bed, you would have fetched your coat, got the fire going and heated up some of the stones to place them underneath the makeshift mattress for him. 

He let out a low hum when he stopped shivering. The chill of the cave had gotten to you faster than you had hoped. You had to hold back the shudders going across your limbs as your body tried to produce some heat. The fur covered little, the majority of it was laid over him. With very careful movements, you shifted as close to him as possible without touching him, yearning for warmth. 

You managed to tuck your feet under the furs without disturbing him. But it wasn't enough. You were so cold. It wasn't long before you couldn't control the shivering and your body began to tremble. 

You hoped that the morning would come soon. At least now you were so focused on the cold that you couldn't think about him as much. This wasn't as bad as the night you first met him, when you'd dragged him back through the storm. That wasn't survivable, this simply wasn't comfortable. Squeezing your legs together and crossing your arms was the best you could do. 

Would you be able to sleep being this cold? You had in the past, hopefully you could now. The shivers running down your spine were becoming agonising. A groan nearly escaped your lips but you were able to hold it back. 

You couldn't force yourself to stop shaking when the Mandalorian turned from his side onto his back. The movement made the fur fall over you slightly. His hand latched onto your shoulder, then your hip, your thigh as he moved down the side of your body. 

“Why aren't you covered?” His voice hoarse from sleep. 

“A-Apologies I. . .y-you were. . .” You didn't want to admit that there weren't enough furs, it would only displease him. What could you tell him? What could you-

“I was what?”

“You. . .were c-cold.”

“So you should be too?” He asked angrily. “And don't ask me if I would prefer otherwise. Of course I would.” He shoved one of the furs on top of you before he pressed up against you. He tucked you in carefully, ensuring that the blanket was covering your body. There wasn't a fur in between you now, just the clothes and the armour he was wearing. The warmth was welcomed, its sensation was gratifying in ways that was difficult to quantify. 

He placed his arm over your chest, his hand tentatively resting on your shoulder like he would hurt you if he applied any pressure. It was either that he was reluctant to touch his slave who was beneath him, or that he was reluctant to touch another regardless of who they were. What rules might Mandalorians have concerning who they could be close to? Was he allowed to do this? Surely being his property made it different? You wanted to lay your fingers over his hand, press it down so that the full weight of him could be experienced without restraint. 

It didn't take long for the shivering to subside. From what you could tell in the darkness and from the proximity of his voice, he was laying on his side facing you. 

A long moment of silence passed. 

No one had ever held you like this. Some had lazily draped themselves over you, using your body as nothing more than something to rest on. Others curled up against you after they found their pleasure for a brief while before they realised what they were doing and pulled away, spouting another order whether it was to pleasure them further, massage them or fetch some refreshments. 

His tenderness almost made you want to cry. How had you ever deserved an owner so kind as him? So considerate and generous? You would have to do better in the future, you had to show your gratitude in any way possible. 

Your heart ached when he murmured your name softly. It was the first time he'd ever spoken it. 

“I don't want you to be cold.” His voice was softer than you'd ever heard it. Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, as you tried to understand what he meant, what context lay behind it, what purpose it had, but you couldn't find any at all. 

“Thankyou.” 

“You have to look after yourself. Alright?” 

“I understand.” He said nothing more. 

You were intensely aware of his proximity for a long while, you could hear him breathing, feel it too. Something inside of you felt right, complete, like it had been waiting for this moment for so long. It didn't feel like a remnant of your training but something new, something you'd never experienced before. It was entirely yours. There was a deep satisfaction now that he was close. It wasn't because he was warm, but because it was him. Wasn't it just the training? His happiness gave you yours, as would his pleasure, his fulfilment, his joys, anything that was his, you had to take without question or complaint. 

It must have been your training, the remnants of it were inescapable after all those years, decades of it. You hadn't felt this with your former owners, but that may have been because you feared them. They had hurt you, tormented you at their pleasure, punished you even if a mistake was not made. There was no safety, no sanctity lying next to them, but with him there was. There was an ache inside of you yearning to hold him, to wrap your arms around him and bask in the intimacy of it. 

The kindness he had shown was warping your reality. He was merely an inexperienced owner. He didn't know what it was like to own a slave. You were certain that on his travels, on his hunt across the systems for bounties, he would find out exactly how he should behave, what his own duties were. He had to discipline you, he had to ensure that the pledge given to him was upheld in every way. If it was not, he was owed blood. That was what you gave, and that is what he will take from you. 

The suffering would come, it always did. But for now, as he slept tucked up against you, hand resting on your shoulder, you would enjoy this brief contentment. 

You did not sleep for hours, fixating on his presence, on his every breath. 

\- - -

Something was lying across you. The weight was somewhat heavy. It wasn't the furs, they didn't have the solid mass, it something else, something- 

Oh. It was him. With your every breath, his arm was being shifted slightly. He was still holding onto you. 

Your mind drifted back to the fixation on his kindness, to the fantasies of his gentle touch, of his compassion which had greatly marred your perspective of him. Whatever brief respite these daydreams brought now, would not be worth what was to come. You needed distance, you needed him to leave so that you could think clearly without his presence, without his arm across you, without his body pressed against yours. 

You wanted to get off the bed, you wanted to get the fire going again, you wanted to shift on the bed in order to purposefully wake him up, anything to provide some space, give some sort of mental capacity for unhindered rationale. But you remained still. He had not yet given you permission to leave the bed. He had told you not to get up, so his order was obeyed. 

You had to be on your best behaviour as not to provoke him in any manner. But what if you weren't? What if you did incite his anger, bluntly ignored his words, what would he do then? You would know, you would understand then, this horrific anxiety and anticipation for his punishments would be sated. The fantasies would tamper off then as well, the fake mirage of him would shatter, you would know what he was, always. The mistake of revelling in his contrived politeness would destroy the urge for his hands to cup your cheeks, gloved fingers tracing across the skin like he saw something more than property, more than a warm body, but someone that he cared for. 

He woke some time after you did. 

It was not a subtle action, he wrenched his arm away like he had been scorned by your disgusting flesh, like he had been sullied by his indentured. The furs on top of you shifted as he moved his body away, the weight of them then pooled at your side like he had uncovered himself and sat up on the bed. You could only guess what he was doing in the darkness of the cave.

What should you do? Would he prefer getting out of bed without disturbing you at all? Or should you show that you were awake now, so he could get up more easily, without having to traverse over you off the bed? You decided on the latter and let out a deep breath as if you been had been woken by his movements. 

“You sleep alright?” He asked, but the question seemed contrived somehow, as if he was forcing the words out. 

“Yes, thankyou. I hope that you did as well?”

“Fine. . .yeah.” The air shifted slightly, like he moved his arm. The discomfort in his voice was apparent. Your assumption was right. He felt uneasiness when he was close to you. 

“I'm gonna get the uh. . .fire going,” he then explained, poorly attempting to distract from his awkwardness. As you moved yourself out of the way, he turned on the light on his helmet to guide his way to the pit. The brightness of it forced you to turn away from him. It didn't take him long to work the quartz and the metal slab together to lit some kindling. He sat by the pit, well away from you, and you wondered what to do with yourself now. 

He seemed to want distance. But with your position on the bed, you were restricted from getting on with your own tasks, or cooking something so that he could break his fast. You would head over to one of the food crates, look at the empty packets he'd already eaten and try to gage what he liked. 

“Would you like some breakfast?” 

“No.” The word was spoken almost harshly. “No, it's fine. I'm leaving.” You were sitting up on the bed, unsure of what to say now after his blunt answer. He was going to leave now? It couldn't have been dawn, there would be a good few hours of darkness yet. You felt the urge to start shaking your leg, it was akin to a buzzing sensation, a nervous energy wanting to burn itself up. Thankfully you still had enough self control instilled in you that your leg didn't move. 

You felt as if you had wronged him. Was this because holding someone was against Mandalorian beliefs? That they could not lie with a non-believer, that it was blasphemous? It would explain his behaviour, his apparent desperation to get away from you as quickly as possible. 

“You should eat,” he told you, pointing at one of the crates. You got out of bed and eyed through the contents, noting the empty packets he had finished. Rather than warming up the food, you ate it as it was. He watched you carefully, and it made you grip onto the ration packet more tightly, so that you wouldn't spill it on your hand again this time. He did not correct you and tell you to warm up the food as he had done the night before. He was not as present as he had been. Though he was sitting across from you, he seemed to have placed himself as far away as possible.

Before you finished breakfast, he inspected outside, presumably checking to see if it was light. His steps were slow as he moved back to his place by the pit. They would have been faster if it was time for him to leave. 

You wanted to ask again if he wanted to eat something warm. He had been so cold the night before, shivering the way he did. He was obviously not used to these kind of temperatures, to this kind of frozen and inhospitable planet.

After you tucked away the empty packet, you picked up the snow shoes you were working on and returned to sit on the bed. You weren't really sure what you were doing. You untied the bindings you'd wrapped around the compromised frame and refashioned it to look more aesthetically pleasing. The Mandalorian didn't busy himself with work, inspecting either his armour or his weapons. He was particularly still, and had an air of tension about him. He checked the door every twenty minutes or so, and on his eighth try, the sun must have begun to rise. 

He seized the belt of ammunition cartridges, not allowing you to even consider securing it for him. He slung the rifle over his back and clipped the belt with the holster around his waist. 

“You don't need to come with me,” he told you, something heavy in his tone. “I know my way here and I know my way back.” Looking down to the ground, a nervousness began to claw at you. He spoke as if it was almost a threat, a promise that he would come here any time he wanted, and needed no assistance from you. 

You glanced up only when he had left. The disquiet did not leave you for a long time after that.


	5. Confirmation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck you guys are amazing. I've never had such a big response to a story, this fandom is so cool! A little story about Khorixas. . .I dreamt about having a job interview in Namibia, and I was fucking late like an idiot because I got lost. I was looking at some towns in Namibia and Khorixas is one of them. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, I'd love to know what you think :D

He did not return for over a month.

After he had left the cave, you couldn't shake the feeling of agitation. Without seeing his ship ascend into the sky and up through the atmosphere, it didn't seem as if he had actually left. He could be waiting, watching, seeing how you acted when he was not in your presence. The Razor Crest was louder coming in to land than it was taking off into the skies. 

The anxiety could not be ousted. You prepared yourself, put on the gear, boots, the fur coat and pants before picking up the wire saw and knife. You headed outside and began to think through what could be said to him if he were to come up behind you in the trees as he had before. The stocks of wood in the cave were low and insufficient as winter continued to press on. They would need to be embellished well. 

You walked towards where he had landed his ship before, ready with your excuse in case he was still there. But as the edge of the tree line got closer, it was clear he had gone. You even went as far as to inspect the marks in the snow from the Razor Crest's landing skits. 

It helped, but not entirely. 

The first day after he left was the worst. You had become so preoccupied by thoughts of him that you could not concentrate on the datapads at all. The second day was much the same until you forced yourself to do more physical work to take your mind off of him. You spent every hour of sunlight cutting down tree branches to add more to the wood stocks. 

As the night drew in, you split up some more logs into kindling, and pictured him standing in front of you. The injury couldn't be hidden from him. His ability to perceive the truth alongside his ability to predict what you were going to say were both particularly unsettling. He was aware of you, in a way that was uncomfortable. Your formers owners did not bother, they did not care to notice in such a manner, aside from what punishments you feared most. The rest they cared nothing for. He wasn't like them. 

By the first week you managed to get back into your routine. Heavy labour was the only thing that took your mind off him. You studied the datapads through much of the early morning and late evening, using the sunlight hours for chores and collecting wood. More needed to be gathered for the long snow, and not only for that, but for the Mandalorian as well. He had been so cold that night, you'd need to ensure there were enough supplies to keep the fire going throughout the night as well as during the day. 

On the second week you headed to the lake, and managed to convince yourself that he didn't like Marika and selfishly ate one for yourself after managing to catch one. The fish lasted three days and for a variety meals. It broke up the mundaneness of the protein bars. You didn't eat any food from the crate he had brought, it could only be eaten when he was here. 

The days were getting shorter, the sunlight was fading faster than you'd expected. The long snow had not yet come, but you knew it would be soon. You wouldn't set up the ventilation tubes until it became necessary, there was still some time to go as yet. 

During the third week, heavier snows came, so you would clear out the entrance to the cave and further beyond it. The physical labour made it more difficult to think about him. You were careful not to get yourself overheated. When your heart would beat slightly too fast, you would take a break and look up through the trees. 

You couldn't help but wonder when he would return. 

\- - -

As you sat before him on your knees, his gloved finger gently swiped under your chin as he inspected you. His hand then cupped your cheek. You leaned against him, grateful for his touch, yearning for whatever he gave to you. As his thumb wiped across your skin, your eyes slipped shut for a brief moment while the sensation was relished. 

“Hmm,” he murmured tenderly. “You know what you need to do.” You nodded differentially, displaying your obedience to him as you would always. He pulled his hand away, and after a few seconds, he brought the collar to you. 

He secured it around your neck and triggered the mechanism. The injectors immediately pierced your skin and half a second later adrenaline erupted into your veins, throughout your limbs. Your whole body was trembling, the unbridled rage and frenzied lust for blood consumed you in mere seconds. A growl forced its way out of your throat as you turned towards the designated target. 

She was sitting on the floor, ankles and wrists bound together, mouth gagged, eyes wide in fear. Your lip curled at the sight. Oh look at her, fucking look at her. . .she was yours, all yours.

As you rose to your feet, he pressed the two blades into either hand. The feeling of them in your grip was how it was meant to be. Her screams were muffled, expression one of utter terror as she tried desperately to crawl away. The sound of her was intoxicating, your breaths were coming short. The rampage was coming, you could feel it about to explode inside your heart. 

You held out the blades in display, eye twitching, neck jerking from one side to the other. Baring your teeth, another deep growl escaped your lips. You were going to fucking destroy her. The rage could not be contained any longer, it was reaching fever pitch, the uncontrolled impulse could not be ignored for another second. You surged forwards with a guttural cry, blades raised in the air, about to-

Your heart was pumping fast when you woke. She wasn't here, she wasn't in the cave, she wasn't anywhere, she was long dead and he was. . .he was gone. 

A nightmare, it was only a nightmare, that was all. Without the years of training, you probably would have thrashed in the bed as you became conscious. You wished you had. But that sort of behaviour had been drilled out of you a long time ago. So much of yourself had been precisely constructed, it made you wonder how different you would have been if you had been free. How much of you was even real?

You got the fire going, wanting some light in the cave as if it would somehow discourage any further nightmares or disturbing thoughts from taking root. It didn't take long to go through the supplies and find the collar you had dreamt about. 

You had kept it all this time. It had been a symbol of the life you had escaped, one that should have been destroyed before ever coming here. But it was a last resort, that was its purpose. You had hoped you could use it to fend off any hunters that came looking for you, a final act of disobedience before the drugs would irreparably damage your body. Death would have followed, it would have been messy but quick. 

You didn't have the chance to use it against the Mandalorian. Even if you had, could you have ever defeated him? He would have gotten a few shots in to be sure, but the drugs would have masked the pain in a haze of unrelenting fury which could only be sated in blood. 

For some reason, you slid the collar on, securing it into place. Triggering it was simple, it would take less than a second. The drugs would seize you, with no one else to take out the anger on, you'd turn on yourself. You would throw your body against the walls, break your fingers and your hands as you tore away at your skin and tried to rip your own limbs off. The likelihood of survival was low. You'd survived it once before, to do so again was unlikely. The body could only take so much. You couldn't bear to think of the last time the collar was triggered, the clamor of the crowd, the blood that had been spilt, the lives you had taken, the look of pride from your former owners.

You didn't have the chance to trigger it for her. She was dead before you had the chance. You were too distraught to inject the drugs and hunt down those who had taken her from you. Sometimes you wished you had. Dying for someone you cared about was an honourable way to go, in a life without honour. 

You unclipped the collar, tucking it back into its resting place. She was too young to die, too kind. How could the universe allow her parents to survive and take her instead? You curled up against the furs, remembering her face light up when she was a child as you told her favourite story again. She knew exactly what was going to happen next but she always loved it. There was such a joy to her, and it never faded as she came of age. You wished you could have taken her to this place, she wasn't particularly keen on the cold, but she would have loved the snow. She would have build little castles and ships and figurines too. 

She would complain about the protein bars and playfully whine when she had to do lots of chores, but she would have watched the stars and the moons in utter rapture, asking the stories of each one, coming up with her own too. 

The fire had been out for a while when you woke again. The progress you'd made since coming to Khorixas seemed to collapse in a instant. It felt like when you had just arrived, when the grief was raw and all-encompassing. You didn't want to get up, you didn't want to do anything, you just wanted to sleep. And so you did. You didn't once look at the datapads, you didn't even leave the cave. You stayed in the bed for most of the day, only getting up for bodily needs, and to get the fire going for a short while. 

That night you didn't dream of her, you didn't dream of anything. The next morning, your body was aching from confining yourself to the bed for a whole day. What would he say to you now? How angry would he be that you were not taking care of yourself properly? That you were not fulfilling the task he had given you? You thought of the kindness he had showed you, the care for your wellbeing. It would not be right to fail him now.

You had to break the rut you had fallen into, so you began to cut into the wall of the cave to create more space for the wood stocks and the four food crates which were taking up a lot of room. Using the pickaxe against the rock, you started to carve out more space. The work was arduous and dusty, but it kept your mind busy for a long while. You wore the goggles to prevent any shards getting into your eyes, though some had cut the skin on your arm. The injuries were superficial so they were ignored. They had to be, otherwise the memory of him tending to the cut on your finger and removing the mark would distract you entirely from the work at hand. 

You needed a hammer for this work. You also needed an axe for chopping up the wood rather than relying on the small hatchet and the wire saw. When the summer came, you'd journey to the village to trade for some more supplies and you'd spend the short warmer months provisioning and stocking up as much as possible. 

The first day you made little progress on the wall, but on the second you got into a rhythm. With the fire going, it was getting far too hot, so you propped the door open slightly to let some air in. You swung the pickaxe into the wall, the metal clanged against the rock but it didn't make an indentation. Tightening your grip, you tried again with more strength and forced a chunk loose. You kept working on the same area, managing to take down a section almost a foot across. As it fell onto the ground, you lowered the pickaxe and tried to catch your breath. 

“Guess you didn't hear my ship come in.” You whipped round in shock, staring at the Mandalorian who stood with his arms crossed, leaning casually by the door. You took off the goggles and bowed in greeting, anxious as to how he would reprimand you for not keeping an ear out for his arrival. 

“Apologies, I did not.” 

“So you've been busy, hmm?” He approached slowly, steps lazy as he took in the work. 

“Yes, more space is required for the supplies.” You swallowed as he neared, he nodded at your words and brushed his hand against the wall. His attention then turned towards you, his hand reached out until he rested it just above your elbow. 

“Thought I told you to look after yourself.” Looking down at your bare arm, you had forgotten about the small cuts. 

“I am sorry, I did not. . .” You couldn't lie to him. You wanted to say you hadn't even noticed them, but you had, you simply ignored them. 

“Sit down.” He picked out the cauteriser along with some gel from the medkit, as he had before, twice now. You felt as if you had failed him yet again. You should have taken better care of yourself. Any damage, no matter how minor, to his property must be corrected as quickly and efficiently as possible. He had told you to take care of yourself. 

After taking a seat on the bed, he mended the minor cuts. They weren't large enough so the injuries didn't require his more in depth attention. You shoved the thought away, focusing on the mistake that had been made, concerning yourself with the discipline he would instil. Afterwards he directed you to cover up your arms so you grabbed the sweater. 

When he had stored the supplies back into the medkit, he gestured to the wall. 

“You need some help?” He asked, manoeuvring himself to inspect the work you've done so far. His gloved hand knocked off a few loose rocks, they clattered as they fell onto the ground. It was as if he wasn't really asking a question at all. There was another indentation on the armour piece covering his left shoulder.

“Your help would be welcomed.” 

He used the pickaxe first, and then you both took it in turns working on the wall, getting into a routine of switching over periodically. While he was using the pickaxe, you would clear up the mess on the ground and use the metal stake to work some of the stone loose.

The rhythm kept you focused. The Mandalorian kept his attention on the wall, to which you were grateful. It was good to have a decent distraction which would lessen the chance of him springing punishment on you. It didn't seem wise for an owner to punish their slave while they were yielding a tool strong enough to puncture through skull. 

On one of the breaks, you noticed that he'd closed the door. He was not particularly fond of the cold, it was a logical choice. But you still grimaced at the sight of it, the sweater couldn't be taken off as he had told you to put it on. You swapped around another few times, and your chest was beginning to ache from how hard your heart was pumping. The little breaks while he was using the pickaxe weren't enough time to recover. A tiredness was seeping across your entire body which was making the work very difficult. You were concerned the pickaxe might slip from your hands because you didn't have the stamina to yield it properly anymore.

“Would you like some water?” You asked while he was mid-swing, hoping that the delay might help you feel better. 

“I'm alright.” The sigh almost escaped your mouth at his response. You needed to stop, if only for a little while, but yet you didn't want him to think you were purposefully slacking behind. Your heart was beating too fast.

“May I?” 

“You don't need to ask.” You sat down on the bed after grabbing some water and began to sip slowly in an attempt to cool down. Perhaps you could make the excuse that you needed to go outside to collect some snow and melt it for the water supply. But then he would more than likely question why the supply wasn't sufficient enough in the first place. 

At the sound of the rhythmic clang after clang as the Mandalorian chipped away at the wall, your mind began to drift away to thoughts of how strong he was. He had chased you all that way in the snow and it had barely showed on him. A life of the hunt was all he knew, all he was.

How far would you have to run from him? You could escape for a while, but not forever, you knew that deep in your bones. But what if you tried? You would have to travel on ship after ship, on trade routes, tourist trails, never keep a routine of what sort of planet you would go to. You would need to travel far off to the other side of the Outer Rim. 

To pay for the fares, for the expense of food and drink and clothes, you would need to migrate to the brothels, to the cantinas in order to look for people wanting company who had some coin to spare. 

After managing to convince a client that you'd give them a good time, they would take you to a cheap motel that charged by the minute. As you were about to utilise the skills that had been learnt, that would be the moment when the Mandalorian would break into the room. 

The client would bolt through the exit before you'd barely taken him in. He would ensure the door was secured behind him and then he'd come closer. For some reason you didn't run, you didn't move off your knees, you were completely entranced by his presence. He'd hunted you down all this way. It wasn't worth the money. Who knew how many times over he had spent in fuel what your bounty was worth. 

No, he came here for you. No one escaped him, no one beat him. He would always be superior, in his skills, in his honour, in his strength, in his beliefs. No greater purity could be found. He had to find you, he couldn't leave unfinished business, couldn't keep a loose end. But maybe it was more than that, maybe he actually wanted to find you. 

He pulled off the rifle from his back and placed it carefully down onto the ground, the small room only had a bed and a hygiene unit in the corner. He unclipped the belt around his waist, with the blaster along with it, and the ammunition below his knee too. Then he passed over the piece of cloth he'd always given to you, and it would be secured over your eyes without hesitation. 

You would feel his fingers underneath your chin. He would pull away for a few moments before repeating the action, but this time, the touch was different. It was bare. You'd gasp in shock, in absolute gratitude that he would honour you in such a way. Tears would form in your eyes, your lip would tremble as you would struggle to accept the gift he had bestowed upon you. 

“I'm here now. It's alright,” he whispered, his bare hand now cupping your face. The sensation of his skin against yours made you so happy, so at peace. It was something you'd longed for, but it was never something you'd truly considered really happening. “Are you okay?” You were more than okay, you could barely describe the uncontainable bliss inside your heart. 

“Are you okay?” His voice was different, serious. You opened your eyes and saw the Mandalorian standing in front of you. He was bent over slightly like he was inspecting you. This wasn't the motel, it was the cave. 

You stuttered out a yes that you were fine, attempting to conceal how short of breath you still were. He didn't seem to believe you, as he now had the propensity to. How could he see you? How could he know you so well? You had barely spoken to him about anything, let alone something personal, something that might convey your real emotions.

Two of his fingers pressed into your neck against the trachea like he was checking your pulse. 

“Your heart's racing,” he commented with a tone of confusion. “Are you ill?” 

“No, I'm a little hot, that's all.” 

“Hot? You're not even sweating.”

“I can't.” 

“What?” 

“I can't sweat.” He said nothing for a short while, he simply stared as if he was trying to ascertain whether you were telling the truth again. He then encouraged you to drink some more water and told you to take off the sweater before opening the door up a little. He moved towards you as if he was approaching, but paused and migrated to the wall. He hovered for a few seconds before walking up to you. 

“Has it always been like this?” 

“No, it's recent.” 

“How recent?” 

“Since before I came here.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” The question was worded incorrectly. He did not care what you wanted, he wanted you to tell him what happened, not the other way around. 

“Minor nerve damage that didn't heal correctly.” Thankfully he asked for no more details than that. You'd rather not describe what happened over and over again, the memories of it were more than enough, the seizing of every muscle in your body, the smell of your piss and shit, the amusement of your owners. He would know it was a weakness. His rifle would be adjusted and be adequately tailored to your requirements. 

After a few more minutes, you felt recovered enough to return to the work. You felt better without the sweater and with the cool air coming into the cave as you swung the pickaxe. He stopped you much quicker than he had before, as if he was concerned about you exerting yourself too much. That wasn't fair, you couldn't allow this to continue. When you took over again, you swung the pickaxe more heavily, using your strength to dig as far as possible into the rock. 

The effort reminded you of that time at the lake where you drove the metal stake into the ice down and down. At least this was serving a purpose. As he motioned to take over, you suggested a break for some food and were grateful that he agreed. Placing the pickaxe down, you gathered up the loose rock into a pile on the ground while he began to look through one of the food crates. 

In the corner of your eye, he suddenly paused, body stiffening for an unknown reason. You watched as he opened up another food crate and searched through it, his speed gradually increasing. Then he went through the third crate and by the last one his movements had an anger to them. 

“You haven't eaten anything out of these crates.” He accused, you almost shuddered when he slammed down the lid. 

“I apologise-” 

“Just stop.” You fixed your eyes on his boots and wondered what he was going to do to you. You had failed yet again, made another mistake even though you had promised yourself that you would not make another. 

You tried not to tense when he approached. He stood right in front of you, arms tensed at his sides. You waited for him to strike, and attempted to brace yourself without it looking obvious. 

“I didn't mean to slam it like that I. . . can you. . .can you look at me?” You complied, staring at the blackness of the visor rather than the lower part of his helmet. 

“I should have been more clear when I told you before,” he explained, voice rather quiet as if he was trying to instil some calm into you. They had played that game before, your former owners had liked to fuck with your head, act all calm and caring and understanding and the moment you would begin to accept their words, they'd crush you back down into nothing. It was their blissful rapture, their-

“I'm sorry.” 

You froze at the sound of his words, the rhythm of your heartbeat stuttered. He was sorry?

He had spoken with complete sincerity, he was truly apologising to you. He was apologising? How could he. . .he was. . .no this wasn't right, owners didn't act like. . .but he had spoken them true. There was no lie. The lies that your former owners had told you had been intricate at times, they would feign their emotions, but they had never done this, they wouldn't even pretend to apologise, that was far beneath them, and yet he had just- 

Had you heard him right? Was this happening? 

“I'm sorry for how I acted just now,” he told you in earnest. Your jaw was held tight, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to understand what was happening. 

“You can eat anything you want from the crates. The food isn't just for you when I visit, it's for you when I'm not here as well. Okay?” 

“It is understood,” you answered automatically.

“If you don't like the food you can just tell me.” 

“The food is enjoyable and more than adequate.”

“Then you're going to eat some, right?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Good. . .that's good. I'm glad we cleared that up.” He nodded slowly, his weight shifted from one foot to the other. When it was apparent he wouldn't say anything else, you offered to warm something up for him. 

“That'd be nice, if you don't mind.”

“It is my pleasure.” He went back to the food crates and handed you a packet when he selected something. It smelt like the meal would be spicy as you began to warm it up in the pot, so you added a couple flavourings to compliment the taste, careful not to make it too overpowering. 

“Is that why the rifle's shock didn't work on you?” He suddenly asked. You looked up from the pot, taken back by how quickly he had put it all together. “The nerve damage I mean.” 

“Yes, I believe so.” 

“Must have been a pretty bad injury. I've taken out creatures ten times your size and yet you were on me in seconds. It definitely took me by surprise.” 

“I am sorry for the injury I caused you.” He scoffed out a laugh.

“You know I've never had a bounty apologise to me before, well a former bounty. I've never had one of those either. You're breaking all the rules here.” He spoke the last part with something akin to affection. There was a warm sensation growing in your chest. You smiled a little and he hummed with gentle delight. 

When his food was ready, he silently handed you the blindfold and you retired to the position in front of the wall on your knees. He had always taken the material with him, he never left it in the cave. It didn't really smell of anything. You supposed you were hoping to gain a sense of where he had been.

If the cloth smelt like plants, he might have been on some lush, humid world where the landscapes were coloured with life. He would have preferred those warmer planets. Maybe he would take you there someday, to a world filled with such abundance where you'd never be hungry, and he'd never be cold again. After he had finished, he thanked you for the food and you chose something from the crate which didn't need heating up. You both returned to the wall not long after. With his help, progress had significantly increased. He didn't say anything while he used the pickaxe, or while you were using it. The silence was comfortable, the air between you somehow more companionable than it had ever been. 

You dwelled on his apology. Each time you had thought he would punish you, he did nothing but prove you wrong. He had shown no aggression towards you. When he had slammed down the lid of the food crate, he had apologised for his actions. An owner apologising to their slave? It was not right. It was wrong, it was abhorrent, it wasn't the way of things. That was all that your training was telling you, every instinct inside of you screamed that this was wrong, that this wasn't how it should be. 

But it was how he did things. And surely that was all that mattered? This was the way in which he chose to be an owner, how he chose to treat you. He acted in the way that he wanted to, not in the way that was excepted of his position. 

The care that he displayed was only increasing rather than degrading after the numerous errors that had been made. This seemed to be who he was. It had been months since you first met him, if this had all been a game to him, some drawn out plan to undermine every perception you had of him, there would have been some suggestion of it, you would have noticed something. Mandalorians were not known for their skills in lying. They were more of the truth and honour kind. Had he ever lied to you? About anything? 

As you thought of your interactions with him, you thought of when he was uncomfortable after he had held you that night, that unusually cold night. His lies were obvious, he couldn't hide it at all. It suggested that every other interaction with you was truthful.

A few hours went by when he called it a day and he helped to clean up the debris. He carried the rocks outside with you and they were placed along the edge of the cave. You cooked for him, at his request, and he suggested that you should heat something up for dinner this time. So you chose what he was having and added three packets to the pot. The day's work would have made him hungry, as you certainly were. You didn't want to wait for him to eat before you could begin cooking your own food. 

After he had finished eating, you removed the blindfold and helped yourself to what was left. He enquired about the datapads when you had eaten most of the meal. You gave him an overview on the topics that had been covered and didn't elaborate as he asked no questions like he did last time. He made no comment that you hadn't studied enough. He didn't give you a time frame as to when you were supposed to understand the entirety of the datapads. You could only assume that he was satisfied with what had been learnt so far. 

When the remains of dinner had been thoroughly washed out of the pot, you filled it up with the stones so they could be heated up and later placed underneath the makeshift mattress. Hopefully he would be warmer this time around. 

“We made good progress, hmm?” He commented, hand gesturing to the wall.

“Yes, only half a day is needed to take down the rest I believe. There will be more room for the supplies.” 

“Guess I hadn't exactly thought about where you were going to put all those crates. I should have been more considerate of the limited space you have here.” 

“The space is required for the wood stocks as well.” 

“You say it like I haven't made a mistake.” You paused, unsure of his meaning. 

“You have not. That is not possible.” 

“It's not possible for me to make a mistake?” 

“Of course not.” An owner could not do such a thing, they were always right, they were infallible, those were the words that must be spoken. 

“Then what are these dents in my armour if not mistakes?” You were at a loss. You didn't understand what sort of game he was playing. Did he want to be praised? At each turn he was shooting you down for it. What did he want from you exactly? “Is that what's in those stories you know about Mandalorians?” 

You didn't know what to say, unsure of where the conversation was headed, thankfully he didn't wait for you to reply. 

“Because they're not true. That's why they're just stories.” 

The things you knew about Mandalorians seemed to have been correct, he did not remove his helmet in front of others, he had honour to him, he was ashamed by personal contact, his armour and his weapons meant everything to him. What part of that wasn't true? What did he mean? His words made you feel uncertain, as they had a tendency to. 

“I want us to be honest with each other. You told me before that you were fine when you weren't, and that's not the first time. I don't want you to lie to me again. Can you do that for me?” 

“Yes, I can. I will.” 

“Good.” You bowed to him respectfully and he nodded in response. If your former owners had caught you lying they would have you in agony. And yet he. . .you should have known he would be different from the beginning. The fact that he had apologised to you should have been confirmation enough, but now this? His sincerity was clear now. His falsehoods had been unmistakable that morning when he desperately wanted to leave after holding you through the night. Everything seemed to fall into place as his intentions could now be understood. 

You turned over the stones in the pot, ensuring they were heated completely. Before he settled into bed for the night, you used the tongs to place the stones under the mattress. You checked the front door's tarp and fur before adding several logs to the fire so that it would keep burning for a while. All preparations had been made for him, the only other thing you could do was. . .you wondered whether he'd hold you again. 

After placing your coat down by the bed, you slipped underneath one of the furs. He hadn't positioned a blanket in between you, but instead he covered you with the fur he was using so it could be shared with him. He didn't want you to be cold, he had spoken those words true. 

Your unrelenting anxiety and expectation that he would be like your former owners had marred your perception of him. You should have known he was different the moment he allowed you to stay on Khorixas, the moment he had taken you on his ship and dropped you off back home. 

Thinking of all those people who you had shared a bed with, it didn't seem real. Oresia was like a living dream which you'd been entranced into since you were a child. That place was so detached from here, from him. You felt. . .awake now. You'd never felt so alive, so aware. You were both laying on your backs, his leg pressed against yours, his chest rose with each breath which would slightly lift the fur. 

You could smell the salty tang of his sweat, the metal of his armour, the material of his cloak. He was so real. He was right here with you. No one had truly cared for your wellbeing. No one had cared that you were fed and warm and uninjured. No one else in this universe had treated you with kindness except for him. 

“I don't want you to be cold either,” you spoke softly, unable to stop the confession. You turned on your side to face him. “May I?” You reached over him, waiting for his permission to lay your arm across him. He softly hummed in agreement. You placed your hand between the chest plate and the armour piece on his shoulder. 

“I am grateful for you," you told him.


	6. Owed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. . . .um. . . .well. . . .uhhh. . . .yeahgoodluckbye.

You had never slept so comfortably. 

You didn't remember what you dreamed about, only that it was pleasant. You felt rested, even after the exertion from yesterday's work. He had not turned away from you in the night. Your arm still lay across his chest, your body was pressed up against his. He must have been warm throughout the night, otherwise you would had been woken by his shivering. 

You gently ran your fingers over the armoured shoulder piece. It had been difficult to reconcile the two parts of him, the side of the warrior along with the kindness he'd showed. Mandalorians brought them hand in hand like no others could. He had killed before, that was obvious. But it did not mean he was cruel, as you had once thought. Each notch and mark in his armour was another story of his survival, rather than the mistakes that he had described. The marks were on his body too, scars from where the armour did not protect him, like the one that was in between his shoulder blades, like the one at the back of his knee. He did not seem the kind to have his scars removed. They were a part of him as much as the notches on his armour were. 

You'd never thought of the damage, or the suffering he had experienced in his life. Mandalorians were shrouded in secrecy and myth. Most others, if not all, would have viewed him with suspicion, like the villagers did back at the township. People did not like what they did not understand. How many people had the same assumptions as you did? How many people shunned him, ridiculed him, hurt him for who he was? 

His beliefs were physically manifested in his attire, the armour, the helmet, the weapons, They could never be hidden, he could never hide. It was who he was. You had become adept at being unnoticeable back on Oresia. A slave would never openly display themselves unless commanded. Your presence had been negligible. But not with him, not with the attention that he gave you as he noticed every movement, every word. You'd never felt so seen. It had been uncomfortable at first, when you had been uncertain of his intentions, certain that at any moment his facade would crack. And yet now the feeling was different, it was not unwelcome. 

It wasn't like with her. He was something else entirely, something. . .

You didn't quite know how to put it into words. It was like nervousness maybe, a state of being alert that wasn't distressing in any way but it always present. His awareness of you was mirrored by your own of him. The sensation would swell around your heart and it wouldn't register as pain but something opposite. 

You wondered whether you should pull away from him. Would he prefer waking up without your arm slung across him? He had agreed last night, but you knew it was only for practical reasons to keep each other warm. You didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable. You only pulled back your hand, still keeping your body pressed against him. 

When he woke, he did not panic like he did before, he shifted only a little but didn't move away. 

“You sleep okay?” He asked with a hoarse voice. 

“Yes, thankyou. I hope that you did as well?” 

“Yeah. . .yeah I did,” he responded. It was nothing like the tone he had that morning. His words were truthful, they were not falsely constructed like before. 

You laid next to him for a few quiet moments. The anxieties that would normally come to fruition didn't appear. There were no dark imaginations, no memories of before, you just. . .laid there, next to him, relishing his company. 

The tranquillity of the moment waned as he began to shift in the bed. You followed suit and headed to the pit in the darkness to get the fire going. He switched on the light on his helmet, helping to guide your movements like he had a few times before. The gesture hadn't been truly appreciated until now. He asked some questions as you prepared breakfast, querying about progress on the wall, how much more needed to be taken out, how long you thought it might take. Before the food was almost ready, he checked outside on the weather. 

“It snowed heavy last night, three or four foot maybe,” he commented as he put the tarp and fur back in its place. 

“I will clear the snow off your ship.”

“Thanks, it'll save me some fuel.” 

The conversation lulled into silence. He handed you the blindfold when his breakfast was cooked. Taking up the position on your knees, you oddly became fixated on the fact that he had taken off his helmet while you were inside the cave. It didn't seem like a regular occurrence for him, to eat in the company of another even if they could not see. It was as if an exception had been made, as he didn't want you outside in the cold. After he had eaten, you held out the piece of material for him. He hesitated a second too long before taking it. 

“There's plenty left for you,” he muttered, tilting his helmet towards the cooking pot. You bowed to him in thanks and ate the warm breakfast, enjoying the heat of it settle in your stomach.

You took down more of the wall with his help throughout the morning. The assistance he provided must have saved you nearly two days of work. As you swung the pickaxe against the wall, you thought of the nightmare that had shook you a few days earlier, how you had curled up in the bed, how the grief and the guilt had immobilised you. These movements now felt healing, each swing gaining you more distance from the agony.

Dealing with the pain of her loss had been worse than any torture. The pain that was inflicted by your owners would always heal, whether it would take days or weeks. But this suffering was different, something that the stories hadn't quite prepared you for. 

The Mandalorian's presence was cutting through the merciless fog of despair. 

You kept on the sweater only for a little while before you were too hot and asked him whether you could remove it. He gave permission so you pulled it off and continued the work. When you handed the pickaxe to him, you noticed that he'd opened the door slightly. A little bit of snow was coming in with the wind, it must have been snowing again. The entrance would need to be cleared out soon. 

Careful to drink plenty of water and keep yourself cool, you were determined that you wouldn't get as bad as yesterday. You didn't just get lost in a daydream, you disassociated right in front of him. That couldn't happen again, you had to focus. 

When you weren't using the pickaxe, you would concentrate on sweeping up the debris and clearing out the rocks that had fallen onto the ground. The ache growing in your arms and shoulders helped to keep you distracted well enough. 

You informed him when the required depth of the wall had been reached, then it was a matter of levelling it out which took nearly an hour. After it was finished, he assisted in the clear up before you prepared a well-earned lunch. Your stomach rumbled as you cooked, the smell of the food packets he'd chosen was delicious. The protein bars would be difficult to go back to. 

“You should eat first.” Looking up from pot, the Mandalorian was sitting on the other side of the pit. Had he heard your stomach over the crackling fire? You bowed to his command, though there was an urge to challenge his words as it was not proper for a slave to eat first. It was not the natural order of things. You had to squish the thought and remind yourself that Mandalorians weren't like Oresians. You must understand his culture, his way of the world, his perspective on all things. Everything else did not matter.

After he had finished eating, you noticed that the red light on his vambrace was on when you took off the blindfold. The last time you had seen it switched on was when he bid you goodbye before heading onto his ship. It signalled that he would be leaving. A muted dejection settled into your bones. This was the first time that you didn't want him to leave. It was shameful to think of how his departure had always been welcomed. But now. . .

“It's time for me to go. Food was good, as always.” You nodded in thanks and held out the blindfold for him. He took it from you but remained standing still, his hand running over the material. You wondered what he was thinking, what he seemed to be hesitating about. You began to prepare the gear for the journey to the ship, turning your back on him slightly in an attempt to give him as much privacy you could in the confined space of the cave. It took him a moment to move again. 

You watched in the corner of your eye as he folded up the material and tucked it away. After putting on the furs in preparation for the journey to the ship, you picked up the newer snow shoes for him. 

“May I put these on for you?” You asked carefully, hoping that he would agree. He looked down to them before taking a seat by the pit. 

“Thanks. . . again.” 

As you knelt before him, he lifted up one leg so you could position a snow shoe underneath his boot. When he lowered his foot, you gripped onto his heel to adjust the position slightly. You tied the straps over his boot, careful not to make the binding too tight to cause discomfort, but not too loose so that his boot might slip free. 

You took slightly longer on the second boot, enjoying the simple pleasure of caring for him. It took you far less time to strap on the older snow shoes for yourself and grab the shovel to clear out the entrance. As you pulled back the tarp and the fur to open up the door, the cold hit you. Then the snow came spilling inside. You hadn't known it to be this bad during the day. The Mandalorian would need something warmer for the journey to the ship. 

You were shivering as you shovelled out the snow, the exercise didn't seem to be making the cold any more bearable. You would also need a fur for the walk to the ship and back. You'd been digging for about a minute when you noticed that he had come outside to help. Objections were brimming in your mind as he didn't have the right gear for this climate. He began to use his arms to push the snow aside. 

He shouldn't be out here in such temperatures with what he was wearing. It simply was not adequate. The furs were struggling to keep you warm, let along the thin clothes he wore underneath his armour. 

When the entrance was clear enough to traverse, you turned to the Mandalorian, about to tell him that you'd finished but he was already heading back into the cave. He closed up the door behind you and positioned himself next to the pit where the fire had dimmed a little. As he strapped on the ammo cartridges, and the belt around his waist, you added a few more logs to the fire for him. Though he would be leaving shortly, he could still be kept warm until the moment he left. 

Before he managed to clip the rifle on his back, you picked up the largest fur from the bed and held it up. 

“May I?” You asked quietly. He offered no resistance and did not refuse the fur as he had before, simply nodding in reply. When you placed the fur over his shoulders, you picked up some rope to tie it around his shoulders to keep it from slipping off. You grabbed another fur for yourself and did the same to secure it. Now the both of you were prepared. With the shovel, pickaxe and a small bag of supplies, you were ready to head out. He stopped you before leaving and took the pickaxe from you, insisting that he carried it. You deferred to his superiority of judgement. As he left the cave, you glanced over him, considering how well the fur suited his armour and rifle. 

The Mandalorian fell in step behind you. The pace was slow to the ship what with the deep snow and the breeze which was creating a brutal wind chill. The extra fur was helping to protect against the cold at least, and though you were freezing it was manageable. 

When you reached the ship, you took the pickaxe from him and immediately got to work, climbing up the back of the ship onto its roof and shovelling off the snow. Your movements were restricted by the large fur but its benefits outweighed the inconvenience. He started up the engines and the vibrations could be felt underneath your boots. It wasn't long before he came up to join you. He used the pickaxe to break through the snow and ice which had frozen against the hull. 

He had rested little while he had been on Khorixas. He had been doing physical labour constantly aside from when he was eating or sleeping. You hoped that next time he would rest. 

The Mandalorian called out that it was time to finish after about five minutes or so. You landed with a loud crunch as you jumped down into the snow. He headed off into the ship, so you took the opportunity to dig out the landing slats as much as you could. 

“Hey, you don't need to dig anymore.” You paused mid-shovel at his words, awkwardly letting it drop into the snow. “The engines can do the rest.” You strapped the pickaxe and the shovel to your bag, readying the gear for the journey back. The motions could have been completed when he was gone, but for some reason you were trying to delay him, delay the inevitable. 

“I appreciate your help.” 

“It is of no consequence.” 

“But it is for me,” he responded firmly.

“No offence was meant, I apologise.” 

“None was taken. I just want you to know that I appreciate you- your help.” He spoke honestly, the slip of his words made your heart flutter. 

“I thank you.” He took you in for only a short moment before he stripped off the fur and handed it over. 

“I'll see you soon.” You bowed in farewell, and he nodded to you again before climbing up the hatch. It shut behind the Mandalorian and you began to retreat from the Razor Crest. When you had made it a safe distance and were well clear of the engines, the ship begin to lift off the ground. 

You held out your arm and gently waved as the Razor Chest took off up into the atmosphere, even though he could not see you. It was only on the way back to the cave that you wondered what had compelled you to do that. 

\- - -

The weather was getting worse. A week after he left, it didn't stop snowing for two days straight. On the third day, you were readying the tubes and preparing to thread them through the ventilation holes at the top of the cave, but the snow starting coming down lighter and lighter until it stopped completely. 

It was so quiet. The forest was practically silent. The snow had a way of taking in the noise and breathing a tranquillity over the landscape. 

On days when the weather was more forgiving, you rushed to stock up on wood. Rather than sawing branches into smaller logs in the forest, you would carry the branches back whole to complete the rest of the work in the warmer confines of the cave. Though it was far better than the temperature outside, the cave had become too cold not to wear the coat inside. The supply of water was beginning to freeze over. Breaking the ice on top had been easy at first, but each day it was getting thicker. 

There reached a point when it was simply not feasible to head out into the forest, the temperatures were dangerously low. You were becoming concerned for the Mandalorian's next arrival. He had given the fur back to you, but he would need it for the journey here, and there was no other landing spot that was closer than the one he was already using. 

You kept listening out for his ship each and every day in preparation for his return and for the moment when you would go out to meet him. The journey would be a difficult one. 

You wondered if you should warn him away until after the long snow had passed. The length of it varied each winter to a couple weeks, to a couple of months. The villagers had told you of a time over a century ago when a long snow had lasted five long horrific months. It consumed everything. Its occurrence each year was the reason why ventilation tubes had to be set up, otherwise people would be buried underneath the snow and suffocate long before they would freeze or starve to death. 

Part of you wanted him to stay with you during the worst of the winter. His company would be appreciated. He would bring reassurance and he would help keep you warm. It was strange to think of him now. Before you'd been lost in a deteriorating void of possibilities as to what pain he would inflict. Now your mind had blanked. It was like the adrenaline was wearing off and you were busying yourself with chores, preparing for the long snow to fill in this dazed blankness. Your body was functioning on automatic while you tried to come to terms with it all. 

Recalling the sound of his apology had made you want to recoil and shun the memory at first. But as you thought on it more, you gradually accepted his words. It was like he was giving you a worth that you never had. You were worth apologising to, you had been given a dignity which you didn't have before. It was a gift, you eventually realised. He had bestowed upon you a worth that had never been experienced. He thought you better than you thought of yourself. That had never happened before. Slaves did not have such dignity and yet that did not matter to the Mandalorian. 

The sun was fading each day until it dared only to rise for a few hours. The short window of light was the only time he would be able to make it to the cave. But what if he came later than that? Would he risk the journey anyway? You were deeply concerned for him. You started having nightmares of the time when you dragged him back into the cave. When you checked to see if was still breathing, he would be frozen solid. 

Studying the datapads offered something of a distraction. You had a fair handle on the basics, it was beginning to make more sense as more was learnt. It felt like you were doing something good for him, to pay him back in a way, for all the kindness he had showed, for treating you with more respect than anyone else had. 

The food packets weren't only eaten when he was here, but also in his absence. You would eat one of them each day. What compelled you to do this wasn't merely obedience but something else, it was about honouring his words. He deserved more than you had given him. You would need to show the appreciation you had of him, and not simply say it in words as you had before. 

The nerve damage had impaired your ability to feel both the warmth and the cold properly. But now the winter was becoming rather acute and that advantage floundered. It had been a few weeks since he had been on Khorixas, and in that time winter had decayed into a level you were not quite ready for, even after everything the villagers told you. Experiencing things first hand had a vivacity that stories could not transcend. Oddly it didn't snow as much now, it was as if the skies were holding it all back until the long snow. 

When he finally returned, the sun had already set. You stilled at the sound of the ship's engines whining as he came into land, panicking as you envisioned him coming to the cave in the darkness as he had before. You had to go out to meet him, take the fur to him for the journey back. 

After tying on the snow shoes, you took off the coat, and put on another two layers before putting it back on. You slung the fur over your back, tying it around your shoulders and your waist. The bag of supplies with his snow shoes was already prepared, so you secured his fur onto it, hoping that it would be sufficient as it was the largest one in your possession. You lit a torch to provide both warmth and light and headed out into the forest. 

It was still. There was no wind, it wasn't snowing. You should have felt grateful but the cold was oppressive. The darkness beyond the light from the torch's fire seemed hostile in a way it never had before. It was as if your subconscious knew deep down of how dangerous this journey was. It was warning you to return to the sanctity of the cave. But you had to continue. You could not wait for him to come by himself. 

You focused on each step, another that would bring you closer to him. You would look up only occasionally to ensure you were going in the right direction. It wasn't long until you reached the edge of the treeline and saw the Razor Crest not far beyond it. There were a few lights along the hull and the wings, but the brightest light came from the cockpit. 

The Mandalorian sat in the pilot seat. He was still, and sitting upright. You waved to him with your arm first, and then the torch, but he did not seem to notice. Could he not see you? Crouching down to the ground, you made a snow ball with one hand before throwing it at the cockpit to get his attention. When it missed, you made another one and tried again, this time it managed to hit the windshield. 

He finally moved by leaning forwards and pointed at something behind him. A moment later the hatch began to open. Knocking off the snow from your glove, you walked round the side of the ship and dug the torch into the snow. With the snow shoes taken off, you headed up into the ship. The lights flicked on as you entered and the hatch closed behind you. He wasn't inside, he must still be on the upper deck. You placed the snow shoes and the bag with his fur onto the floor. 

You saw movement at the top of the ladder and he lowered one foot down onto a step. His other leg did not go down onto the lower step as was expected but it was held stiffly and away from the ladder. There was a poorly wrapped bandage around his ankle which was starting to come loose. He lowered himself down on one leg, he must have been holding onto the ladder to take the weight. 

You rushed over to him, pulling off the gloves and your fur before climbing up to support him. The space was tight but you managed to reach him so you were on the same step. Holding out an arm and lowering down a shoulder, he wordlessly held onto you. You wrapped an arm around his waist and took much of his weight as you both went down. He let out a low grunt when you nearly reached the bottom. On the final step he let go of you and clung onto the ladder before lowering himself down onto the floor. 

You knelt down beside him, wanting to unravel the bandage and determine the state of the injury, but he had moved away so you were unsure whether to proceed. 

“What happened?” You asked, trying to gage the severity of his condition. 

“What are you doing here?” He retorted back with a question, the tone of his voice signalled displeasure. 

“I'm sorry?” 

“Do you know what temperature it is outside? Why did you risk coming to the ship?”

“You. . .are here. You do not have a fur to keep you warm. I came to bring you one for the journey to the cave.” He sighed loudly, his voice was strained when he spoke again. 

“You can't risk yourself like that, don't you understand?” Nerves began to gnaw at your gut. You understood that a slave needlessly risking their life was wrong, that it was an affront to their owner, but there was a need, his need. You didn't comprehend his meaning. It was vital for you to come here to provide him with the clothing necessary to make the journey. You had told him as such, you must not have made it clear enough.

“Apologies I do not understand. You do not have a fur in your possession. It was necessary for me to bring you one so that you could. . .” you trailed off as he began to shake his head. 

“It wasn't safe to come here,” he explained, but his words did not clarify anything. You knew that it would be a difficult journey, but it had to be made.

“I should have stayed in orbit until daybreak,” he muttered to himself. His shoulders heaved up and down as if he was taking in a deep breath. He was displeased. You had upset him, and once again you had not followed his orders. He kept having to repeat himself over and over and yet the message didn't quite sink in. He lowered his head for a moment before looking at you again. 

“And no offence was taken, and no apologies are needed. To answer your question I had a fall. I'm lucky it's not broken.” 

“Is it a severe sprain?” 

“Probably.”

“May I take a look?” 

He nodded at your request and you begin your examination of his ankle. The bandage had been wrapped over his boot. You wondered if he would allow you to remove it or he was merely giving you permission to wrap the bandage properly. You unwound it carefully and hesitated about your next move. 

“It's alright,” he murmured almost bitterly, the sound of his voice was rather opposite to his words. “You can take it off.” You complied and unstrapped the belt of ammunition below his knee. There was a strap lower down which seemed to support the armour over his shin. You didn't think you could take off the boot with it still secured, it would be painful for him, so you removed that too and unbuckled the boot straps. 

He winced not long after you began to take off his boot so more care was taken with the movements. You used your free hand to support his calf and managed to slip off the boot after half a minute. His ankle was swollen, there was fierce bruising around it and a particularly dark bruise along the side of his foot. 

“Do you have a medkit?” He pointed upwards.

“Cockpit.” You pulled off your coat and slid it underneath his ankle to support it, rather than have it resting on the hard-surfaced floor. 

You climbed up the ladder and the door to the cockpit slid open as you approached. The medkit was already open on the seat behind the pilot's. The contents were meagre at best, he seemed to have gone through much of it already. You packed it all away before taking it back down. Thankfully there was some numbing gel, so you put on some medical gloves and applied it to his skin in hopes of easing his discomfort and pain immediately. 

Searching through the rest of the medkit, there wasn't much else to help him aside from more bandages for support. 

“Do you have any bacta spray?” 

“There's some in the medkit you've got.” You nodded and walked over to where you'd dropped the gear. Pulling the fur back over your shoulders, you were about to pick up the gloves when he spoke. 

“You're not. . .” he scoffed in surprise. “You're not actually going back out there, are you?” 

You turned to him, mind going blank as you considered a response. You were going back to the cave for the medkit, the bacta spray would ensure that he recovers quickly. It was what he required. 

“Of course you are,” he told you, not waiting for you to reply. “Look you're not going, you're staying here alright? It can wait until tomorrow.” 

You conceded to his words, lowering your head to him. The injury to his ankle in his eyes was not serious enough to warrant the risk of you making the journey to the cave. The fur was lowered off your shoulders.

Moving back to him, you were about to apply more numbing gel when he told you to switch the fur for the coat under his leg and he said to put the coat back on. With the hatch being opened, all of the warmth from the ship had escaped outside and without the engines on, whatever heating units were still functioning weren't doing a particularly good job of warming the space. You tended to his ankle, though adding more gel was not particularly necessary. The movements kept you occupied, it felt like something of an apology to him. After finishing, his ankle and foot were then wrapped with bandages for support. 

It felt wrong to see part of him exposed, it didn't really seem like part of him at all. You searched through your bag, picking out a spare scarf and using it to wrap around his ankle. The entirety of his foot and ankle had been covered. He hadn't protested or rejected the action, so you assumed it was satisfactory. More gel could be added to his ankle later in the evening, perhaps before he went to sleep. You remained sitting in front of him. 

It must have been difficult for him to climb up the ladder to the cockpit. You hoped that his ankle was the only place where he'd sustained an injury. There was no particular stiffness in his arms, hands or torso. He did not seem particularly open with his injuries. Months ago when he had a blaster wound in between his shoulder blades, he had not spoke of it until he had reached the cave, until it was absolutely necessary. You had deep suspicions that if his injuries were not serious enough, he would not speak of them. 

You wanted to ask what happened. How he fell, if someone had hurt him. He did not seem to be anything but surefooted, so it must have been caused on purpose rather by his own accident. You could not quite quell the thoughts of how you should have been with him, how you should have been protecting him as was your duty. But it felt almost like something more than duty. It was becoming a desire, it was not simple a natural reaction, a manufactured instinct, but it was a thoroughly considered decision to ensure his safety, his sanctity. 

“There's a cot over there. It's small but it'll have to do for tonight,” he broke the silence, trying to lessen the strain of conversation to something more palatable. “It's not as good as your bed though.” The words took a few moments to sink in, and when they did you felt heat on your cheeks. It was not meant in that way, but there was something about the way he was trying to lighten the mood. 

“The furs may provide some comfort,” you replied. “May I help you over to the cot?” He thanked you before he began to use the ladder to lift himself off the floor. He wrapped an arm over your shoulders and you gripped onto his hand, and slipped your other arm around his waist below the belt. He didn't put any weight on his injured leg at all, so you took his weight on every other step. 

When you reached the cot, his description of small had been somewhat generous. It was more compact than you expected. Your bed seemed far more luxurious even though it had been cobbled together. 

You would sleep closer together than you ever had before, you'd practically be on top of each other. Only one of you would be able to lie on their backs, he must assume that position for the sake of his injury. You would have to lay on your side, your face would be almost pressing against the wall. It was a small price to pay for being that close to him. You had slept so well the last time he was with you. His presence had been missed. It was something that you had gotten used to far too easily. It should be seen as the gift it was, rather than a habit that wasn't truly appreciated. 

He sat on the edge of the cot, and you hurried to retrieve the furs to place them on the thin mattress. Afterwards, you awkwardly held your arms by your sides, unsure of what to do. Without the comforting and familiar presence of the cave and without the usual tasks to attend to, you felt useless, helpless without direction. You felt the distinct wrongness of the position, with you standing above the Mandalorian, him sitting below you. 

Picking up your bag, you knelt down onto the floor to look through the contents. The hunting knife and wire saw had been packed along with some protein bars and water. There was a smaller quartz and metal slab to create fire, the cheap cauteriser you owned and some extra clothing for warm. If you had packed a few of his food packets you could offer him a meal at the very least. 

“I thought I didn't talk much,” he mumbled, it took you a second to piece together his words. He had spoken not with any particular affectation, it was neither derogatory nor complimentary. 

“I apologise. Would you prefer conversation?” 

“That's not something I've been asked before. People usually do most of the talking. It's. . .different with you, and it's nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I am s-” You paused, catching yourself from about to apologise though he had deemed it unnecessary. You did not want to pry into his life and ask questions as it would be inappropriate. There was so much you wanted to ask of him, but if he wanted to share the information he would of his own accord. Once he asked how you had been, and you replied that you were progressing with the datapads. He seemed letdown by the response, as if he was expecting something else. 

“The long snow will be here soon. I'm not sure exactly when, but it will be impossible to leave the confines of the cave, or any shelter.” 

“Long snow?” 

“When I arrived here the villagers told me stories of this planet, and of the long snow. During the worst of winter there will be a period of time where it does not stop snowing at all. That is when it will be the coldest.” 

“Do you want me to take you to another planet? Some place to wait out until the winter is over?”

“This is my-” You forced yourself to stop. You were about to retort that this was your home. But it was not your home. He allowed you to remain here, and he could remove you from Khorixas at any moment he pleased. Your place in the universe was where he deemed it, not where you chose it to be. “I would do as you willed.” 

“I am asking what you want.” Your eyebrows furrowed. Mandalorians and their odd ways, you couldn't ever quite get used to how he treated you, and the way he was supposed to treat his slave. 

“I would not wish to be a burden. The cave has been provisioned for the long snow. My concern was only for you.” 

“Have you got enough food?” 

“Yes I do, thankyou.” 

“Enough wood for the fire?” 

“Yes, I have ensured to bolster out the stocks. It has been helpful to have more space in the cave, your help was greatly appreciated.” 

“It was nice to do simple labour like that. Haven't done it in a long time.” 

“I am certain in the warmer months there would be many more rocks to provide even greater entertainment.” He let out a low chuckle at your joke, the sound of it warming something in your chest. You had judged that he would take the words as they were meant, rather than something of a disrespectful insult. It felt pleasing to have your efforts rewarded, and to have amused him. 

“This planet have any chalk? Now that would be a good time.” A small smile pulled up your lips. 

“A bit messy perhaps?” 

“It better be,” he replied. “That'll be half the fun.” 

“Have you heard the story of the Khaveux chalk cliffs?” 

“I haven't, tell me.”

“It is rather long.” 

“I don't mind. We've got some time on our hands, haven't we?” 

You told him the story of a moon called Sxo and its great city of Khaveux. The city sat atop cliffs of pure chalk which stood over a mile above the ocean. There was an island not far from these shores and its people envied the great city. After suffering many famines, the islanders desperately tried to climb the cliffs to reach the abundant lands of Khaveux. Among them was a teenager who had lost their family to hunger. The islanders many attempts failed, so they began to tunnel into the chalk cliffs, but every tunnel would collapse, no matter how hard they tried.

The Mandalorian continued to focus his attention as you described how the days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. Their hope began to fade as their efforts came to nothing, with each tunnel collapse more islanders would die. Supplies from the island started to dwindle. Eventually they left one by one, until only a single islander remained, it was the teenager, who was no longer a teenager. They were no longer young. 

You detailed the remaining tunneller's struggles, their endless digging into the darkness, week after week, month after month, year after year. After the last working tool finally broke, they were utterly distraught. They were unable to stop, unable to given in. So they didn't. The tunneller began to use their hands, their determination for a better a life, for the families that had been lost was unfaltering, uncompromising. You used your hands to show how the tunneller would dig into the chalk, how their fingers eventually curled into their palms and became unusable. They resorted to using their elbows and their feet to break away at the chalk, the never-ending chalk which became all they knew. Their hair began to match the colour of it. Their memories of the island were distant and hazy, but their determination never failed. 

One day they finally reached the surface and their eyes were immediately burned by the sun after years of darkness. A farmer had found the remarkable earth dweller and word eventually spread across the city of this strange creature. 

An elder explained that Khaveux Island had a different name many years ago. The island was now prosperous and many would travel to its shores down the cliffs' pulley system. But there was once a time when the island suffered greatly and they had tried to reach the city by tunnelling. 

When the tunneller, the islander, finally awoke, their identity was confirmed, and when they were told of the island's prosperity, they wept for days. The people of the city and the island wanted to bask the tunneller with riches and comforts for all the suffering they had endured. But the tunneller preferred the chalk more than anything else. They declined when the Khaveux people offered to build a house within the cliffs for them. 

Some of the Khaveux people suggested that they call the cliffs after the tunneller. Many thought that this gesture was not enough, that it did not illustrate their gratitude, it did not reflect their years of suffering, their years of dedication. It did not show the endless hope of the tunneller that was unwilling to give up, that was incapable of letting the dream of a better life for all the islanders go. 

And so the decision was made. A child hurried into the tunnels with the news, they were probably the same age the tunneller was when they left the island all those years ago. They went into the tunneller's home which had been carved into the chalk. It was mostly darkness, but they had added some lights for the benefit of the visitors who came rather frequently. 

The tunneller asked the teenager's name, their voice still harsh after years of disuse. The teenager stuttered out the reply, nervous and excited to be in the presence of someone so revered, someone who become a legend. 

'I'm Sxo,' the tunneller replied. 

With the story finished, the Mandalorian sat in silence for a long while, as if he was taking it all in. Your throat was dry after speaking for so long. Nerves started to build as you worried that the story wasn't to his liking. He would have interrupted you if he thought you were wasting his time, surely? Had your skill for telling stories deteriorated along with all the others after coming to this planet? 

But stories were different, no one had trained you how to do it. There had been no instructions, no corrections, no evaluations. This was yours, it was the only thing that you had crafted by yourself. It would be devastating if he didn't like it. His opinion meant more than you'd ever thought it would. 

He let out a soft noise, something almost like a laugh. 

“They called their own moon after the tunneller?” He asked rhetorically, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “The city really liked them huh?” You nodded in agreement, pressing your lips together and managing to force a smile. Looking away from him, you had to accept that he didn't dislike it and that he wasn't giving you any praise. It was more disappointing that it should have been. You had hoped that he would genuinely enjoy it, rather than give you a noncommittal response. 

“Thankyou,” he said. “I don't think I've heard a story like that since I was a kid.” 

“You. . .enjoyed it?” 

“Of course I did. You're a good storyteller.” 

“That praise is most gratifying and rather uncustomary in its extravagance.” 

“Are you disagreeing with me?” 

“No! No I would not do such a thing.” 

“So you are a good storyteller then.” 

“I. . .do not disagree with you.” 

“Accept the compliment.” 

“I. . .yes. I apologise.” 

The Mandalorian was making you accept the praise that he offered. He would not allow you deny the worth he gave you, however uncomfortable it made you feel. The air in the ship was becoming rather chilly so you enquired about the location of any heating units. He directed you to a storage cupboard near the ladder. After shifting around some tools and pieces of broken machinery, you pulled out a heating unit and brought it over to him. It was working though not particularly well so you checked over the battery and inspected the wiring to see if it could produce more heat. 

Your efforts seemed to come to nothing, the heating unit puttered as it was turned on and offered the same as it did before. Before you could apologise for the shortcoming, he suggested to look for a battery in another cupboard. Thankfully when one was found it made a significant improvement, and the heat blowing out of it would do well to warm the space of the cot. 

“The battery should last us the night,” he commented as he positioned the unit next to him. The next objective was to keep the warmth contained rather than spilling out to the confines of the ship. He gave you directions again, this time to find something which would cover up the end of the cot and then a bolt-fixer to secure it to the walls. What you found was similar to the tarp back at the cave though thinner, but it would keep some heat in. 

Him guiding you to the various places in his ship felt more personal than it should have been. If he was uninjured, he wouldn't be telling you this, he wouldn't be divulging where these pieces of equipment were. Much like back at the cave, if there was an additional bed he wouldn't be sharing that with you either. 

He manoeuvred slowly to the back of the bed, and you stood on the end of it to fix the coverings. The bolt-fixer juttered as each bolt was deployed into the wall. After the preparations had been made, he told you where the food was and how to use the micro-oven which heated the packets in a few seconds. You found a plate and some cutlery and tried to present the meal as well as you could. The spices and flavourings he had were limited, but you used a couple before hurrying back over to give him the food before it could cool too much. 

Rather than offering the blindfold, he told you to go to the cockpit and described the location of a switch to the left of the pilot seat which would turn off the ship's outer lighting. After climbing up the ladder, you let out a breath, taking in the view outside. The wind had picked up a little, but it still wasn't snowing. You flicked off the lights and sat behind the pilot's chair, thinking of the last time you were here. 

You thought he was going to take you back to them, but he was merely returning you home. To think of that time when now he was asking you to turn off some lights on his ship. Five minutes later, you heard three consecutive bangs and headed back downstairs. Before climbing down the ladder, you queried if he was ready, to which he confirmed. When your meal was cooked, you sat in front of the cot to eat on your lap. 

“How is it?” He asked after you'd taken a few bites. 

“Sweeter than I imagined.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes it compliments the flavours well.” 

“When you're finished, there's something I want you to try.” That something turned out to be something small, wrapped object which he retrieved from a pouch on his belt. 

“It's a Utai sugar crystal,” he explained as he handed it to you. After unwrapping the sweet, you struggled to snap it in half. 

“All of it's for you,” he mentioned. You paused and thanked him. Unable to break any off, you tried the sugar crystal all at once. The sweetness was immediate but it had a rich flavour that didn't make it overly sweet or sickly. “You like it?” 

You nodded in response, enjoying the taste. You couldn't think of the last time you had something this sweet. You thanked him again afterwards before ensuring the plates and cutlery from dinner were cleaned and stacked away. 

He asked for another story, wondering if you knew one that related to sweets or sugar in anyway. You happily told him the tale of the Iktotchi sugar mines and how a young soothsayer had correctly predicted its location after many months of treacherous journeying.

When you finished, he thanked you for the story and said he was going to call it a night. He declined your offer to apply more numbing gel on his ankle. He laid out on the bed, shuffling right up against the wall to give you all the space he possibly could. You helped reposition your coat underneath his leg for support. 

You weren't quite sure how to even get into the cot without touching him or jostling him. You rested your knee on the mattress before reaching out with your arm and twisting your body. Laying on your side, it was uncomfortable resting on your elbow for a moment before you manoeuvred properly and slid beside him, your front facing the wall. He laid the fur over your shoulder. You muttered a thankyou and settled down in the bed as much as possible. 

His breathing was pronounced, it was louder than you'd ever heard it. He did not sound as if he was in pain, but the fact he was breathing so loudly in the first place was enough to cause concern. You kept trying to think of different ways to help him, whether you could offer to re-wrap the bandages, add additional support under his leg, even massage his calf muscles to try and ease his pain and discomfort. 

He had no other medication or painkillers that could be used to manage the pain until you retrieved the medkit back at the cave. The bacta spray would heal the injury well at least. 

You should have insisted that his ankle needed to be wrapped again for the duration of the night, something that could give you an excuse to use the gel to numb his pain. The Mandalorian turned the lights off after a short while, the only light you could see was from the heating unit. It was mostly quiet, but the fans would make a noise every once in a while. 

It would have been preferable to face him rather than the wall. The sensation of desire had been a strange thing to become accustomed to. It was difficult to control, these wants shouldn't even exist. You had been trained to only sate the desires of the one you served. That brief interlude of freedom had dirtied the waters. Perhaps punishment was the only thing that would break through, maybe it was the only way to ensure that his desires were embedded into your conscience, and that nothing else would take root.

You shifted closer to the wall in an attempt to give him as much space as possible. 

“Are you uncomfortable?” He asked, the vibrations of his voice could be felt through your body. He was so close. 

“No, I am fine. Thankyou,” you replied. 

“The bunk was only made for one.” 

“If you prefer me to sleep elsewhere I will-”

“No, no. I didn't mean it like that. It's going to be a tight squeeze, that's all.” 

“I understand,” you told him. You were also going to say that it was of no consequence, but it seemed likely he would retort that, and assure you that there was. Then you were about to say that you didn't mind his company, but you thought that would be too forward, too suggestive. It might give him disquiet. 

“I don't have any crew, so it's always just me in here.” 

“It was not my intention to make your night uncomfortable by coming to the ship.” 

“I know.” You didn't know what else should be said, and he allowed the conversation to lull into silence. As your mind begin to wander and you began to settle down to sleep, he spoke again. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” 

\- - -

Trying to get out of the cot without disturbing him simply wasn't possible. You wanted an early start to begin preparing for the journey back to the cave. It wasn't going to be possible to carry him through the snow, the best option would be to improvise some kind of sled to drag him through the forest. When he woke, he shifted and grunted in pain. There was movement in the fur by your feet, as if he'd moved his leg. 

“Are you alright?” You asked, knowing that the real answer was that he wasn't. He would answer that he was of course.

“Yeah,” he replied, though the sound of his voice suggested opposite to his reply. “Well I. . .I moved too fast.” The addition to his reply was a surprise. He said before that he wanted you and him to be honest with each other. You had assumed it was merely directed at you, his involvement was to lessen the bluntness of the command. But again, he said exactly what he meant. 

He was. . .so much more than you had ever given him credit for. To think of the horror you felt first seeing his armour, like blood against the snow. His presence signalled the end of your life, a harbinger of death. And now you lie next to him, in a companionable bond. 

It did not feel as if he was your owner, and you his slave. There was something other. It was not comparable to the relationship you had with her. You had been her caregiver since she was a child. 

With him it was. . .

He was giving you a respect that you did not deserve. He was blurring the lines of the contract between you. It should have been more unsettling than it was. The lights within the ship came on. 

“Can you help me up?” You immediately shifted off the bed and assisted him. He directed you to the fresher the opposite side of the ship. He was able to brace himself against the wall to relieve himself, and you turned away to give him some privacy, but you remained close in case he requested you. He thanked you when he was finished, his tone rather awkward and withdrawn. You tried to distract him by asking him what he wanted to eat. 

After breakfast, you suggested putting something together that could be used as a sled to carry him across the snow. He explained how to unscrew the door to a storage area. It was large enough to fit his body sitting down and with his legs lying flat. When you found some straps, you used the bolt-fixer to secure them onto the metal door so you could pull the sled across the snow. He told you that the straps needed to be long enough to wrap your torso, rather than pulling them with your hands to reduce exposure.

The sled had nothing to support his ankle. You searched through another storage area for some kind of suspension or spring, something that would absorb the bumps along the way and ensure his ankle wasn't jolted around on the journey back to the cave. When he asked what you were looking for, he told you not to worry about it and that the sled was fine as it was. You countered with a suggestion to take the heating unit with him and that the additional weight would be negligible. 

Thankfully he acquiesced, and as you were checking over the sled, the sun began to rise. You prepared your supplies and handed the fur over to him with some rope so that it could be secured around his shoulders and waist. He would not allow you to give him your coat to support his leg, so you asked whether the pillow from the cot would be acceptable. He agreed once more. 

“Should I fetch your rifle?” You asked, not having seen in anywhere on the deck.

“Don't worry about it,” he replied. The final thing to do before you left was to add more numbing gel onto his ankle and make sure it was wrapped properly. 

You applied more gel than what was strictly necessary, the jostling of the sled would cause him discomfort, this would help it a little at least. You used the scarf and the blanket from the cot to wrap around his ankle and foot so it would be properly covered and supported. After packing your supplies and tucking his unused boot into your bag, everything was ready. He pressed a button on his vambrace to open up the hatch and the heat immediately escaped. Every bit of warmth from the ship was gone before the hatch even fully opened. The dramatic change in temperature was almost disorienting. 

After carrying the improvised sled off the ship, you half-carried him down the slope, gently lowering him down. With the straps tied across your torso, he gave you the okay and you began to pull him across the snow. The ship's hatch closed behind you. At least it was easier carrying him like this, rather than dragging him through the snow like before. The weather was holding out too, no wind or snow just yet. The storms would come soon enough. 

The Mandalorian was as comfortable as you could make him with the additional fur, the support around his ankle, and the heating unit tucked by him. The journey to the cave didn't take as long as you expected. 

When it came into view, the relief was palpable. It wouldn't be long until you could get the fire going for him and get him settled into the more comfortable bed and treat his ankle with the bacta spray. Hopefully it would mend the injury fully and wouldn't take long for it to start working. It would give him more relief than the numbing gel had. 

Going into the cave, you helped him down onto the bed before hurrying to the pit to get the fire going. The kindling seemed partly frozen and was resistant to being lit. The Mandalorian called you over, distracting you from the task. He asked you to him up and he then directed you to carry him over to the pit. When he was in position, he pointed his arm to the logs and flames shot of his vambrace with a fierce intensity. You almost reared back in surprise, but managed to keep holding him up. The kindling and the logs quickly caught fire. 

You gave him your thanks and carried him over to the bed, part of you wondering what other weapons he had concealed away, what else he had chosen not to use on you. 

Opening up the medkit, the bacta spray was retrieved for his ankle. When you turned back to the Mandalorian he was already unwrapping the blanket and scarf around his foot. You hurried over to help him with the rest and applied the bacta spray when his skin was bare. The result was instantaneous. 

The bruises on his skin began to fade, his ankle looked less swollen than it had been. You tried to hold back the smile on your face, grateful that he would recover quickly now. He leaned back slightly, the tension in his shoulders fading. He straightened his leg out a little too, like he was finally able to relax. He agreed to take off the belt around his waist along with the blaster before handing it over to you. With a bow, you placed it delicately by the pit. 

As he laid out on the bed, his back resting against the pillow, you took off the fur around your shoulders and slipped it underneath his leg for more support. He mumbled a soft thanks. 

With the Mandalorian's needs satisfied for the moment, you resumed the chores around the cave, checking the front door, tending to the fire, breaking up the ice which had formed on top of the water. It felt better being back here. The ship was unfamiliar, but it wasn't unwelcoming. He had guided you to various places and storage units, even told you how to turn off the ship's lights in the cockpit. You supposed that the Razor Crest had the potential to be called home if the opportunity was granted, but it could not be dwelled on, it was not your right to. 

The Mandalorian was rather still, and you thought he might have fallen asleep, so you were careful to be quiet. Daylight must have faded a few hours after he woke. He sat on the edge of the bed, gently moving his injured foot side to side to test how well the bacta had worked. 

He was about to stand up when you rushed over to him, frantically wanting to tell him to wait. 

“May I fetch something for you?” The question was asked in an attempt to distract him, rather than explicitly discouraging him not to get up which was the true aim. 

“Some water if you wouldn't mind.” When a cup was held out to him, he reached for something underneath his chest plate and pulled out the blindfold. You didn't realise that was where he kept it, before he had retrieved it from a back or side pocket. As you settled on your knees in front of the wall, you held the blindfold in your hands for a moment before putting it on, trying not to fixate on its resting place.

The relationship with the Mandalorian was decaying the rules that you had been trained to never cross, to never breach. You wondered how long it would be until you ventured unknowingly over the line he had drawn. It was not visible, its location wasn't known. What would he do to you then? You'd already been on the other end of his violence once before, when he pressed his arm against your throat, when he hunted you in the snow, affixed a grapple line around your ankle and dragged you back to him, like the prey you were. 

He was finished with the water after a minute or two, and you began to prepare dinner when he confirmed that he was hungry. As you searched through one of the food crates, you turned around, about to show the selection when you saw him standing right behind you. The closeness didn't cause you to jump, he had sneaked up on you before so it was only natural to prepare for that eventuality. You looked down to his ankle, wanting to make your disapproval known. The severity of the concern was almost turning into anger. He shouldn't have been putting weight on his leg so soon after the bacta spray. Why wasn't he allowing himself to heal properly? He needed to take better care of himself, he needed to. . .

The thought faded away as realisation sunk in. Was this how he thought of you? When he had told you to look after yourself even when you continued to be careless and forgetful? When you weren't taking proper care of yourself? He said that you had to look after yourself. You wanted to repeat his exact words back to him. 

The conflict must have shown on your face. 

“It only hurts a little. It's worked faster than I thought it would.” 

“Can I apply some of the numbing gel so you won't be in pain at all?” 

“Really, I'm fine. It's an ache more than anything.” 

“I can. . .” The words drifted off, you were about to suggest that you could massage his ankle to relieve his discomfort. 

“Hmm?” You swallowed awkwardly, hoping that he would not take offence to your next reply. 

“It is not my intention to overstep, but if you would like your ankle to be massaged, I would be more than happy to oblige.”

“It's not really uh. . .I mean. . .would you, are you sure?”

“Of course, it is my pleasure.”

“That would be nice.” You nodded in reply, holding out one of the food packets to him. 

“Would you like dinner first?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

After he chose what he wanted to eat, he returned to the bed without your assistance. His limp was rather pronounced, but he didn't stumble and didn't seem unsteady. While cooking dinner, you tried not to get lost in the fact that you were going to touch him. You hoped that the ache in his ankle could be relieved so that he could rest more easily. 

“Ask me something.” You looked up from the cooking pot, seeing the Mandalorian focusing his attention on you. 

“I'm sorry?” 

“Ask me something. You don't ever do that.” For a moment you were about to retort that you had queried what he wanted for dinner, but there was another meaning to his words. 

“It is not my place to invade your privacy.” 

“I can always say no to a question, can't I?”

“Mandalorians from what I understand are particularly. . .protective of their personal information. It appears to be only appropriate for you to share that with others of your creed and it's deemed unacceptable to share with non-believers. Is that true? 

“There are plenty of things that I've done with you which would be frowned upon to say the least.” 

“I apologise, it was never my intention to-”

“It was my decision. . .for the most part. Aside from that night when I came here, and I found you. Then you spared me. Did I ever thank you for that?”

“You did not.” 

“Well, it's late but. . . thankyou for saving my life.” 

“As you mine.” 

While you wondered what other questions he might want you to ask, you served him dinner and continued the consideration while in front of the wall. Could you ask him why he deviated from other Mandalorians? Was it perhaps to do with his profession? Or was it all related to him owning a slave? With his ship, his travels, the bounty hunting, every other aspect of his life beyond this planet, there was no reason for him to do anything that would be frowned up. But when he was here, when he was with you. . .

Guilt started to bubble as you considered each time you had invaded his privacy. That first night, the injury you'd inflicted, then the blaster injury he sustained weeks later, him asking you to stay in the cave while you ate, him sharing a bed with you. Every facet of his time here was tainted, and these indiscretions continued to occur. His kindness to you was overriding his normal behaviours. 

When he finished and it was your turn to eat, you'd lost most of your appetite. You could see him watching you, so you began to force it down, swallowing without really tasting. But he saw right through you, as now he seemed rather adept at doing. 

“Something wrong?” He wanted you to be honest, you couldn't lie to him again. You put the food aside and approached him, sitting down on your knees in front of the bed. 

“When I brought you here out of the storm that night I. . .I knew it would be desecration to remove your helmet. So I did not. But when I healed your injury, I did not know that the action would be egregious as well, and I can only express my deepest apologies to you.” 

Both of his arms reached out towards you and he firmly grasped your shoulders, the touch reassuring and not overbearing in any way. 

“It's okay,” he told you. “I promise you that it's okay. You're forgiven and you don't need to apologise or worry about it ever again, alright?” The sincerity of his words hit you hard in the gut. It took a few moments to nod in response. His thumb started to gently rub against your collar bone. “Alright?” He repeated. 

“Yes. I thank you.” He nodded at your reply and pulled away, gently gesturing to the pit and to return to your food. An appetite was slow to return, but return it did. 

You wanted him to understand that the respect you harboured for him was not merely constructed out of obligation, as a slave to their owner, but that it was formed out of your own volition. It was something more than the blood which was pledged. He had to know, he had to understand the depths of your gratitude, the care you had for him. 

When you had eaten dinner and washed the cooking pot, you opened up the medkit to retrieve a pair of medical gloves and some numbing gel. From the earlier conversation, he had not specifically said that he didn't want the numbing gel, so you could use this technicality to your advantage and apply it unless he stated otherwise. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, so you suggested that he may be more comfortable lying down. 

He agreed with your assessment and laid out on the bed. After putting on the gloves and kneeling on the floor, you were about to start unwrapping the bandages around his ankle when he spoke.

“You'll be more comfortable on here.” You followed his request and got onto the bed before tending to him. With the bandages gone, you applied the numbing gel generously with the medical gloves and rubbed it into the skin. The bacta spray had continued to improve his injury and the bruising had faded even more. All that remained were yellow splotches indicating the final stages of healing. 

As the gel was applied, you focused on massaging the muscles. You were not fixated on the fact that you were touching him again, or the fact that you were working on his bare skin. Instead you were concentrating on the work at hand. You pressed the tip of an index finger on top of another, applying pressure back and forth below the ankle joint. 

A few minutes must have passed when you looked up at him to see his arm laid over his helmet, like he was covering his eyes. You stopped immediately. 

“Am I hurting you?” 

“What?” He mumbled, lifting his arm away. “No, no it's. . .quite the opposite.”

“Shall I continue?” 

“If you wouldn't mind.” 

You continued the work, realising that his position was one of relaxation rather than discomfort. It was as if he was taking in the sun, basking in the heat but covering his eyes as it was too bright. There was something particularly pleasing about helping him in this way, in such a direct and immediate way to provide relief. 

The Mandalorian was familiar with injuries, perhaps that explained his inattention to his ankle. To assert that he had a high pain tolerance with his line of work was perfectly reasonable. He seemed accustomed to such pain, like you were, or at least, had been. Only with a period of time that lacked suffering would he be able to adjust his perspective, normalise it to how it should be. Was it something he could ever have? A sense of longing started to eat away at you. Focusing on the task at hand, the feeling began to fade but never quite left. 

You stopped when he shifted his weight, his arm had dropped away from his face. He gave thanks so you wrapped up his ankle again, ensuring that all of his skin was covered. With the supplies packed away in the medkit, you tended to the fire and warmed up the stones for the mattress. Rather than getting out of bed when they were heated through, he shifted to the other side of the bed, allowing you to place the stones underneath the mattress with the tongs. 

“Are you coming to bed now?” He asked softly. With an intake of breath, you felt a sensation lifting through your chest and then rolling back down. It did not register exactly as pain. You didn't quite know what it was. 

“Of course,” you mumbled back in response. Finishing up around the cave took less than a minute, a door check, more wood to the fire, and taking off the boots. You positioned the heating unit at the end of the bed to provide additional warmth and took your coat off. He held up the fur blanket and you slid in next to him. You managed to hold back a deep sigh as you laid down beside him.

His company was not the burden it once was. It was only with the realisation of his apology and his true nature did you understand how anxious you had been before with him. All that time it took you to finally recognise who he was, to know that what he said was as he meant, it was almost shameful.

“From my count,” he muttered, voice hoarse with tiredness. “I owe you two stories, though it might take me a while to remember something as good as yours.”

“Your compliment is accepted.”

“Oh, is it now?” He teased. 

“It is. And it must also be said that the stories weren't given but shared, so there is nothing to be owed.” 

“Alright, well I'll share some back, how's that sound?”

“I would like that,” you replied, mind wondering about what sort of stories he would share. For him to even offer such a thing as a Mandalorian meant he was gracing you with trust. It was more than appreciated.

His arm came over your chest, his body pressed against yours under the furs. He bid you goodnight and you did the same, lips pulling into a small smile on your face. 

\- - -

You felt warm. 

But it was something more than that, something more than physical sensation. It was almost like some kind of peace. For a brief moment you wondered what it was until you realised the Mandalorian's arm was wrapped around your waist. You thought of the time you had spent with him since he had arrived. He'd given you a gift of the Utai sugar crystal. He'd even tried to gage whether you liked sweeter things, if you had said you didn't, he probably wouldn't have given you the sugar crystal. 

You hoped his ankle was better today. He probably didn't need any more bacta spray, but more numbing gel wouldn't go amiss, nor would a warm breakfast. You gently latched onto his arm, in the hopes of untangling yourself from him so you could get the fire going. 

He grunted softly and pressed himself flat against you, his grip tightening, his leg shifting to rest over yours. A soft gasp escaped your lips. He was hard. 

Oh. 

Your eyes were wide open in the blackness of the cave, your gasp was barely audible. He was. . .oh. Of course he was. That was perfectly normal. . .you were. . .he was. . .

The shock you felt wasn't logical. For some reason, this possibility had completely escaped your attention, even though it was inevitable. He worked alone, he had no crew, spoke of no other companions. The closest people were nearly a hundred miles away. The cave was a sanctuary away from prying eyes, away from others who would pass judgement. You didn't understand how you had been so foolish, so blind to his intentions. Of course he had been nice to you. He had treated you with a modicum of respect completely undeserving of your position. He showed you kindness and you had idiotically assumed it was given freely. But it had come with a price, and now he excepted payment. 

He had been grooming you, all this time. All those concerns for your wellbeing, him telling you to look after yourself, him keeping you in the cave while he ate, him ensuring that you were eating well, him not wanting you to be cold, him telling you to be honest with each other, him apologising to you for his anger, him complimenting your storytelling, him forgiving you for treating him disrespectfully, him giving you a treat, him promising to share his own stories, it was all for this. 

In return for his niceties, you would offer nothing but gratitude, you would be nothing but thankful, nothing but willing. The purpose of his kindness was to ease you, calm you, prepare you for this moment. 

You felt nauseous. 

Everything made sense now, his every action, his every word, the truth of it was laid bare. You thought that you had understood who he was before, but you were wrong. The way he treated you was not the way owners treated their slaves, it was so obvious, so clear, how could you blatantly ignore it? This wasn't how you expected things to turn out, this wasn't how things were meant to be. You had hoped. . .it didn't matter what you hoped. 

Moving your arm behind your back, you moved your hand in between his body and yours. You felt the padded jacket which had the chest plate sat on top of it and slipped your fingers underneath to find the top of his pants. You grunted in pain as he snatched onto your wrist, wrenching it painfully up your back. 

“What are you doing?” He grunted, voice deeper than it usually was, the anger in his tone was marred by something else. 

“Please let me use my hand,” you pleaded, wincing at the pain in your arm. You didn't doubt that he would break it if he applied more pressure. You couldn't hold back a cry of severe discomfort. You hoped that he would listen to your begging. Without lubrication, it was going to hurt when he fucked you. At least this would still satisfy him. You would give him the pleasure he sought.

“Please,” you begged again. He gradually lowered your arm before releasing you completely. You held back the sigh of relief, most of the pain dissipating in a few seconds. Resuming from before, you slipped your hand underneath his pants, fingers tracing over his hair before tucking underneath his underwear. He let out a low groan as you grabbed onto his cock, the sound of him nothing but arousing. 

You started off slow, trying to learn how he preferred it, how much pressure to apply and where. Pulling back his foreskin, you pressed your thumb over the tip, feeling the wetness of his pre-come. He moaned again, his hand gripping tightly onto your shoulder, his leg tightening over yours. The sensation of him getting even harder was almost as erotic as the sounds he was making. As you began to pick up the pace, it was like his every breath was a moan. His pleasure seemed quieter when you manoeuvred down to the base, so you focused your attentions higher up. 

He was getting louder, you could sense he was going to finish soon, so your grip tightened and you went faster. His grip on your shoulder was going to leave bruises. When he came, a loud moan escaped him, you could feel it vibrate around your chest. You cupped your hand to take his come, but it dripped off your palm. There was so much of it. His come spilled onto the furs in between you. 

You wiped your hand on the back of your sweater, trying to keep the mess away from him. He began to catch his breath after half a minute or so, it wasn't long before he was totally silent. His hand pulled back from your shoulder, he shifted away and from the sounds of it he was covering himself up. 

The movements stopped and your heart began to ache. Had you pleased him? Had you given him what you wanted? You began to feel anxious, deeply concerned that you hadn't performed as he wished you to, that you had lost another of the skills that had been learnt from before. 

“Would you like some breakfast?” You asked, hoping the break the tension between you. He grunted in agreement so you got out of bed to get the fire going. He did not use the light on his helmet to help guide your way. You struck the metal slab against the quartz several times, the sparks flew out into the pit and it took a while for the kindling to catch fire. It took about a minute or so to get a proper blaze going. 

You broke the ice that had formed on top of the water so you could use some to wash your hands. The quartz and the metal slab would need to be cleaned, his come was on them, and on the metal stoker for the pit too. The furs would need to be washed as well, unless he preferred you did not. As you looked through the food crate for a meal he would enjoy, he sat on the edge of the bed, both his hands grasping onto the mattress. His tension only made the nerves in your gut become putrid. When you suggested one of the food packets to him, he merely stared at you for a moment too long before nodding. 

You were barely able to focus as his food was being cooked. He was watching you, observing every moment as you prepared his breakfast. It was a relief when he handed you the blindfold and you faced the wall, oblivious to his attention. Should you have used your mouth to pleasure him? To clear up? Should you have placed something in between you to contain the mess? 

Your ears pricked when he mumbled that he was finished. He headed over to the door, his limp less noticeable than yesterday. You were vaguely surprised to see that the daylight streaming into the cave for a brief moment when he opened the door. Both of you must have slept well. He closed up the door and picked up the belt with his blaster, securing it around his waist. You felt numb watching him, unable to offer to help him. 

He searched through your bag for his other boot and the ammunition cartridges before sitting down on the bed. Most of his bandages were removed so he could put the boot back on along with the ammo belt under his knee. He didn't put on the snow shoes. He pressed something on his vambrace, its red light came on. He picked up one of the furs as he stood. 

“You should stay here, I'll just take this with me,” he told you, wrapping the fur around his shoulders. He turned away and headed out the door, without another word. 

He was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. Apologies for the delay. Lots of shit going on at the moment, but I'm getting back with it all. Your continuing support and your kind comments all keep wacking me on the head to get in gear and keep going. I'm fucking adamant about finishing this story and I'm not working on anything else until it's done. Thanks so much for reading and let me know what you think about this one! Do you hate me yet? Heh heh. More coming soon. Appreciate you guys.


	7. Reflection

He had. . .

He had left. It must have been a while ago now. You didn't know how long.

He never said goodbye. He never nodded at you like he did before. 

You were. . .

You were facing the door. The tarp and the fur weren't fixed down properly. The cold air must have been coming in, but you didn't feel it. You didn't feel anything. 

The door was getting darker, more difficult to make out. The fire was dimming down, you noticed that. At some point, you went over to the door to make sure the tarp and the fur were keeping the draft out. You got the fire going too, adding more logs to the fire and using the metal stoker to shift the wood and embers around. You stopped, suddenly realising. 

His. . .there was. . .

The stoker clanged as it hit the ground. You rushed over to get some water and immediately began cleaning the stoker. You'd forgotten about the quartz and the slab too, they'd need to be washed, and the furs on the bed too. Hurrying over to the bed, you ripped off the fur you had been laying on with him and frantically scrubbed your knuckles against the large, wet patch which had been left behind. 

You washed the whole area initially, and then went over it a second time more thoroughly. He would want it clean, he would want it spotless. The pain in your hands, your fingers, your knuckles was oddly detached. You could sense it, but it didn't feel quite there. 

After you finished, you used the longer metal stake, some tools and a couple fishing lines to string up the fur over the fire to dry it out. The slab, quartz and stoker were all cleansed as well. With the tasks completed, your leg starting bouncing up and down as you sat by the pit. The fur hadn't been cleaned properly. He would expect the best. Even in his line of work, he always appeared presentable, his armour was always clean and never marred with dirt. 

You needed to clean it again. 

When one of your knuckles split, you retrieved the cauteriser from the medkit and sealed up the wound efficiently. He had told you to use it. The work was returned to immediately. By the time you were done, you could feel pangs of hunger. One of the food packets was chosen for dinner and prepared. He would expect you to enjoy them and consume them on a regular basis. As the meal was tucked into, you tasted a spark of sweetness to the flavour, like. . . 

You put the food down, deciding that it could be eaten later. It must have gotten dark outside now. You climbed into bed, covering yourself with the furs that remained. The one above the fire would take at least a day or two to dry, and the other he had taken.

To get yourself comfortable, you pulled the furs close against you, reaching behind you to pull the blanket right against your back. Your fist clenched, mind recalling the sensation of his come dripping off your hand. You wrenched your arm forwards. 

The reaction gave you pause. Were you recoiling at the memory? That wasn't quite right. You thought back to what happened, the feel of him, the sound of him. His moans had permeated through your ears, reverberated around your chest like he was filling the space around your heart. You had not reacted so strongly to auditory stimuli before. His pleasure was almost palpable. There was no question that you were aroused. You did not experience sexual gratification, but you certainly felt pleasure.

You had been trained to automatically respond to physical stimuli, and yet this was something different, something genuine. It had all been unexpected, you hadn't considered the eventuality that the Mandalorian would desire a sexual relationship. Was its abrupt nature the reason for your negative reaction? 

There was no other reason you could conjure. It was an insignificant price to pay for the dignity he gave you. Though his kindness was not honest as you had once thought, though it had specific motives, its very existence was more important. It was your own fault anyway, to come under the impression that he treated you above your station, to believe he thought you more than a slave. 

His behaviour towards you could likely be explained by who he was. Mandalorians may have allowed slaves a greater respect than those on Oresia or on other worlds. Their definition likely differed. Considering that Mandalorians were the opposite of overt with their sexuality, it was logical for him to build something of a relationship with you, to bond over a period of several months before initiation. 

You pulled the blanket tight around you, glad to have settled the matter.

It made sense. It all made sense. 

\- - - 

Less than a week later, the long snow came. 

Setting up the ventilation tubes had been. . .nasty. 

The work was much more difficult than you'd thought. The cold was nothing but destructive. You had been outside only a few minutes when you found yourself becoming distracted already, mind beginning to drift, thoughts blanking out to nothing. You had to force yourself to focus, concentrate on each and every movement, otherwise you'd slow down, you'd look at the snow falling onto the forest, take in the skies above the trees, enjoy what little natural light there was. 

It was like the sun had retreated. You couldn't make out its location through the heavy blanket of clouds. If you hadn't become used to the sun's movements across the sky, then you wouldn't know its vague direction at all. There was no definitive light source in the sky, just a weak, dying light that marred across it. 

The ventilation tubes were tied up onto the highest point of three trees, facing down so the snow couldn't fall into them. You hoped it would be enough, but as you finished and finally returned to the cave, a sense of foreboding came over you as you sealed yourself in, knowing you would not see the daylight for a unknown period of time. 

You peeled off the heavy fur, taking off your gloves but leaving the coat on. The ends of your index finger and middle finger were swollen, the skin was splotchy and it had a slight blue colour to them. For a few moments you stared at the sight before your body begin to shudder in proximity to the fire, your muscles reacting to the warmer temperature. A sharp jolt of intense worry hit you. 

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. It was frostbite. 

You pulled out the medkit with unsteady hands, body still trembling violently as it adjusted to the heat. For some reason you automatically picked up the numbing gel even though you couldn't feel the ends of your fingers. Letting the gel drop onto the floor, you managed to grab onto the cauteriser instead and tried to use it but your hand was shaking too much. It had to be steadied by placing it in between your knees. 

The noise of the cauteriser seemed so loud even though you knew it was practically silent compared to your cheaper model. You quickly went over each thumb and finger before going down deep into the flesh of each one. You only moved from one to the next when you began to feel pain, when the nerve endings had been rebinded. When you'd healed your hands, you took off the boots to check your toes but they seemed fine, no swelling, no splotching or tinges of blue. 

A heavy sigh escaped you at the close call. It had never gotten this far before, to the point of physical damage. You should have been worried. You should have been at least somewhat concerned, ready to evaluate everything that had happened to prevent the mistake from occurring again in the future. 

But there was this strange acceptance. You'd felt it once before. After the Mandalorian had failed to incapacitate you with his rifle, you stabbed him in the back of his knee before kicking him onto the ground. You had run off into the snow, willing the storm to take you, knowing there was no return.

You should not feel this. You had to protect yourself, it was his will. It must have been a response to the extreme cold, a subconscious memory of the storm that night. There was nothing more to it. 

After stoking the fire, you did some more studying of the datapads, knowing that the progress would be pleasing to him. A few hours must have passed when you finished and tended to the fire properly. It wasn't long before your attention was drawn to the tarp and fur at the door. With the current heavy snow fall, the whole entrance to the cave would be covered in a day's time. 

At least there would no longer be a draft. 

\- - -

The first week, you'd held onto the routine. Chores, studying, cooking, sleeping. You were doing fine, not as good as you hoped, but as well as circumstances could allow. It was so cold inside the cave, you didn't just keep the coat on, but kept a fur around your shoulders too. Often you would wander over to the door to check whether it was daylight, forgetful of the long snow. You'd dejectedly turn away before reaching it. One day though, you actually opened the door and were greeted by a wall of snow that had frozen solid. 

The image of the entranceway being impassable gradually began to eat away at you. When would you know to start digging your way out to the surface? It could be a few more weeks, a few more months until the long snow was over. How long would you have to wait? The questions and the anxiety were spiralling each time you woke. 

To alleviate the pressure, you decided to work out in the confines of the cave, doing numerous exercises to keep yourself busy. On Oresia, you had a structured routine of physical improvement, so you made sure to vary and change the movements until they were unrecognisable from before. You incorporated it into the routine you'd build for yourself, chores, studying, exercises, cooking, sleeping. Without daylight, working with your body clock was all you had. 

But it only lasted so long. 

When you woke up, sometimes it felt as if you hadn't slept at all, so you stayed in bed, hoping for a more restful sleep. Then other times, your body ached all over, as if you'd been asleep for days on end. The routine deteriorated. You didn't have the energy to do exercises or focus on the datapads, chores were rendered to the bare minimum. You were even losing your appetite. It had never been so cold inside the cave, no matter how large you got the fire going, it never seemed to make you warm.

Without confirmation of day or night, everything blurred together. You never would have thought how disorientating it would be, to be so detached from the outside, to be so far removed from the natural order of day and night. It was deeply unsettling. 

Getting out of bed became a chore in and of itself. The warmth that the furs provided seemed to lessen with each passing moment. You were so cold. Leaving the bed to start the fire didn't seem worth the effort. 

Your mind wandered to thoughts of spring, when the long snow was finally over and the days would get longer, the landscapes would flourish with life. But dwelling on it only made you feel worse. You hadn't ever seen a spring on Khorixas, you had arrived in the summer. You might. . .you might never see the spring. Your situation seemed to get more precarious as time passed, if it did pass. It was becoming this strange suffocating haze. Waking was blurring into sleeping, dreaming blurred into consciousness. You did not have pleasant dreams or vivid nightmares, you merely dreamt of being stuck in the cave. An inescapable cycle.

The remaining solace which gave you a modicum of clarity was the Mandalorian. Picturing where he was, imagining what kind of desert world he might be on, was all that was tangible. It was the only thing that could be held onto. The memory of that morning, when he came in your hand, the sound of him, the feel of him, it had a vivacity that punctured through the haze. 

At first, you had put the poor reaction down to the unexpectedness of his desires, but eventually the realisation became apparent, it was simply because those desires existed. 

Describing what he was to you wasn't possible, no term could have encapsulated the gratitude that had been felt towards him or the desire that had once existed to go beyond what he ordered. A steadfastness to him became apparent when you thought his intentions were understood. You had yearned for his company, basked in how he would chide you for not taking proper care of yourself. It was not something you had experienced before. 

You had become comfortable in his presence. You had thought that your conversation would be enough for him, that your stories would provide him sufficient entertainment. That physicality he now wanted made that comfort degrade comprehensively. Being able to gratify someone was merely a performative function which you had been trained to accomplish. It was not something you had honed of your own volition. You had thought you were enough. You did not realise that the only aim to his kindness was to instil gratitude in you, and to ensure your eagerness. 

Curling up against the furs on the bed, you wished he had been honest from the very beginning. If that was all he wanted from you, then it should have been made clear because he had- 

He had hurt you. 

It was a long time before that conclusion was reached. He had carefully began to give you a worth that had never been known, he offered you a respect that a slave did not deserve. 

After being on Khorixas, the years on Oresia had regressed into something dreamlike, all those years of managed and carefully planned responses. The snow, the skies, the cave, his ship, his presence were all that mattered. They were the only things that seemed real.

His fabrication had destroyed everything. You were as you always were. He did not care about you at all. 

You were shivering. The cold should have been numbing you, but the pain in your chest could still be felt as you thought of him. Remembering all that had happened couldn't be helped, nor could picturing him next to you. 

You couldn't help but think of him. 

Think of him tucking you under the furs. Think of him holding you. 

The cave had never felt lonely until now. 

\- - - 

One day, you considered how much he would dislike what you had been doing. He would have been concerned by how you'd been acting, how the routine had been lost, the lack of chores, exercises and studying the datapads. You forced yourself to look at them again, but you mindlessly kept reading the same sentence over and over, unable to focus on the words. 

Sometimes you imagined what sort of world he would be on. Would he be somewhere warm? Would he be in a system that had not only one star but two? Was he on a moon? A planet? A space station? You would incorporate him into the stories you knew, tailoring them to fit him into the narrative, predicting what sort of choices he might make. 

Being consumed by these fantasies was a little better than recalling what happened, knowing that you had disappointed him when he left so abruptly. You wanted to know what you had done wrong, why you had not satisfied him. Even though his kindness was a facade, it still had purpose, he would still continue to act in that way, unless you gave him reason not to. If you displeased him again, there would be repercussions. 

You had thought above yourself. You had mistakenly elevated your worth and your desires when they did not matter. Regardless that he lied, satisfying him was immaterial. It was a negligible exchange of his gratification in return for how he treated you. 

He would not want his property to decay in such a way. You had to be ready for his return. 

Slowly, you forced yourself out of bed regularly, adding more to the routine as time went on. At first, eating more had been a success, and then, gradually, you began doing more chores. After getting up one day, you sorted through the food crates, taking stock of the remaining packets. Taking into account the number of protein bars, there were still months worth of food left. The levels of wood were still high. You hadn't been tending to the fire as much as you should have, but rather stayed in the darkness, tucked under the furs on the bed. 

Having periods of constant light seemed to help as well. You managed to start looking at the datapads properly this time. Only a little was studied in one go, but you kept at it regularly and began to include the exercises back into the routine. 

Sometimes you were getting warm enough to take off the coat when your heart was pumping hard even as you rested. There was something akin to a contemptuous anger in the movements, like you were going to show him exactly what you were worth. It was like you were preparing yourself to demonstrate what had been learnt, to ensure his every need was fulfilled. If he wanted you in that way, then that is what he would get. 

If he didn't want your company, your conversation, your stories, then you would give him your body. You would fuck him like no one else had fucked him. You would ensure that every other encounter he had would pale into comparison to what you could offer. You would mark him, in your own way.

As he had marked you. 

\- - -

One day you opened up the door. The moment seemed right for some reason. Perhaps this is what the villagers felt, or maybe it was simply you coming to the end of your rope, no longer able to keep to the confines of the cave, desperately wanting the freedom of the open skies, where you could take in lungfuls of that cold, pure air. 

Staring at the solid wall of snow, careful steps had to be taken to ensure that the cave wouldn't be consumed by it. With the cooking pot placed on the fire, you picked up the hunting knife and began to cut out a block of snow at hip level. You carried the block over to the pit, and dropped it into the pot, cutting it up into smaller pieces to compress it down. After managing to fit one more block of snow in the pot, you used the shovel instead to save your gloves from getting wet. You continued the work as the snow melted, cutting out two blocks at a time and then carrying them over to the pot. You kept going until the pot was over half full with liquid, and took it to fill up the water supply. 

The hole was taking shape, it was becoming wide enough to fit your body while crawling, and it was deep enough that you couldn't reach any further. You used the shovel to begin rounding off the tunnel, smoothing out the edges until it was as round a circle as you could make it. 

The snow was completely frozen as it was shovelled out and was easier to work with than fresh powder which would be more prone to collapse. With the first part complete, you climbed up inside the tunnel and started to cut out chunks further in. The further you dug, the tunnel was angled up slightly. Anything vertical would be too dangerous and if the tunnel were to fail, you'd be buried alive. There were no spare ventilation tubes which could be used to guarantee an oxygen supply. 

This had to be done properly, and you had time enough to do it. 

When the light from the pit's fire didn't reach the end of the tunnel, you thought back to the story of Sxo, wondering how they had managed to dig for so long in complete darkness. You didn't have any candles or anyway to bring a small flame into the tunnel with you. The torch was too large to use. Rather than using light from the fire, you brought one of the datapads inside, turning it up to full brightness and propping it on the edge of the tunnel as you worked. Blocks were placed next to you before they'd be pushed along the sides of the tunnel to the door entrance. With the light you could ensure that the tunnel was well rounded and that the angle was constantly on the incline. 

After another hour, you had some well-earned food and rest. The next time you woke up, you felt a sense of determination that you hadn't felt before. It was a resolute confidence in the progress you had made, in the current shape of the tunnel. 

The tunnel was a good thirty foot deep by the time the water supply had been completely filled. The incline was less than half of the depth. You decided to empty one of the food crates rather than fill the containers where the bodily waste was kept. The crates could store water as its material was suitable and watertight. With a crate readied, you headed back into the tunnel, crawling along with the shovel, knife and a datapad. 

The exercises were no longer performed, the tunnelling was exercise enough. Studying the datapads and doing non-essential chores were no longer a priority.

There was only the tunnel now. It consumed your dreams and your thoughts like the Mandalorian once had. You were so preoccupied by the work that you barely wondered about him. The work went on for days, it must have. The exertion also increased your appetite. You became content after hours of good progress, then cooked yourself a hearty meal from the packets, bulking it out with some protein, spices and flavourings. 

It felt like a reward that had been earnt, and the final prize was reaching the surface. Each time you got out of bed, it was becoming more palpable, it truly felt as if you were getting closer each moment. 

And then one day, you broke through. 

Some snow collapsed down onto you, more of an inconvenience than anything to cause panic. When it had been brushed off your face and chest, you saw light. Real, unmistakable sunlight. 

You blinked at the sight, almost in shock that you'd finally done it. Letting the shovel drop away, you scrambled up to the surface and saw the landscape around you. 

The skies were clear. Not a trace of clouds. The sun was bright and holding steady slightly above the horizon. The forest around you was barely that, the trees were barely ten foot tall now, and they had been consumed by so much snow that they were close to being unrecognisable. 

You sat on the ground until you began to shiver violently and your eyes were streaming. The coat didn't provide enough warmth, you didn't even have your goggles on either. You climbed back down the tunnel to the cave, excitedly grabbing a fur and the goggles before heading back up to the top. You looked up at the ventilation tubes on the three trees, all of them still in place. You had done well. 

The cold was still severe, but you just about managed it, your wish to stay by the trees overriding practicalities. You remained on the surface until the sun began to set, watching the memorising colours bleed across the sky. 

It was beautiful. 

\- - -

The days became days again. Though it took longer each morning to check whether day had broke, having the ability to reach the surface bolstered your spirits. For the first few days, you sat at the top of the tunnel, enjoying the still landscape around. You only did a few minutes of shovelling at a time, it was too cold to stay above ground for too long. 

As the week progressed, you were able to remain on the surface for longer periods of time, allowing you to start shovelling from the top of the tunnel back to the cave. It was intended to become a pathway rather than a tunnel, with walls of snow on either side and the top completely free of snow. 

Meals were ate heartily. The portions were larger than usual, as there were plenty of rations remaining, and spring was soon on its way. It felt like an indulgence you had earnt from all that work on the tunnel. Even still, you studied more of the datapads in the evenings before sleeping to make up for the excessive use of provisions. 

As you settled down for the night under the furs, you remembered when you'd wondered how long it would be until the Mandalorian would do something more than merely lie next to you in bed. You had forgotten about that. The possibility had always been there, you had even recognised it and simply brushed it away ignorantly. You had become too involved.

What you had with the Mandalorian was nothing more than a contract which could only be transferred, a pledge that could be broken only by death or by blood returned to what had been given. You were incredibly lucky that the Mandalorian had not taken you from here, that he left you to your own devices the vast majority of the time. 

Over the next few days, endless thoughts of the Mandalorian curtailed. You supposed you'd exhausted going back through each memory of him and trying to analyse his meanings. A resolve had settled in you, now it was known what his true desires were. The disappointment you had felt was not because of his arousal, but because you had been so blindsided by it, so wrapped up in elevating yourself and hoping he saw you as more than what you were. 

A mistake that would not happen again. 

You spent as much time outside as could be managed. It felt as if the days were getting longer, that the sun was inching its way further above the horizon, though it was likely just your imagination. 

It had been more than two weeks since you had broken through to the surface when he returned. He had left a week before the long snow, you must have spent at least a few weeks in the cave. Adding it all up, it must have been about a month and a half since he was last here. The familiar sound of the Razor Crest's engines didn't disturb you as it once had. You didn't feel anxious. There was no need to prepare yourself for what was to happen, because it was all laid clear now. 

Without hesitation, the fur was picked up and placed over your shoulders, the supplies readied for the journey to the ship. You crawled out of the tunnel and walked the rest of the way up to the surface before making your way to him. 

You barely made it half way when you spotted the Mandalorian walking through the trees up ahead. After approaching him, you bowed respectfully, noting the fur around his shoulders which had been put to good use. 

“It's been a while,” he told you, his voice rather devoid of any particular emotion. You nodded to display that his words had been acknowledged, but offered no reply of your own. He remained standing still for a few moments. “I barely recognise where we are. The long snow's been here right?” 

“Yes it has.” 

“And. . .how was it?” 

“Stock levels remain sufficient and progress has continued on the datapads.” 

“So you had enough food then?”

“Yes, thankyou.” He continued watching you in a way that suggested he was waiting for further explanation and conversation, but nothing else was said. 

“Come on,” he murmured, walking past you. His snowshoes weren't tied on correctly. 

You followed him back to the cave, forcing yourself to get used to the rhythm of two sets of footsteps. In your concentration, you almost bumped into him when he came to a stop near the cave entrance. 

“I didn't know it was going to be this bad.” 

“It was a good long snow. Better than most I believe.” 

“Good? There's more than what. . .forty feet of snow down to the cave? How is that good?” 

“All three ventilation tubes remained intact. Food, water and wood supplies were above satisfactory.”

“I thought the long snow was just a name, I didn't realise it was so literal.” You mulled over his words for a moment, thinking back to when you'd told him about it. You were certain you'd said that the long snow was when it didn't stop snowing at all.

“Apologies. Explanation will not be lacking in the future.” He slowly shook his head as if to himself before making his way down the path and crawling through the tunnel into the cave. With the door closed, and the fur and tarp secured, you tended to the fire as he sat down on the bed and took off the fur. 

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how commanding his presence was. Before you looked away, his body stiffened slightly as he placed the fur down. His arm gravitated to his torso for a brief second, as if he was subconsciously trying to protect an injury. He quickly clenched his fist and relaxed his body language. He had walked without issue. It was likely that the injury was not severe, but had been disturbed by entering the cave and twisting his body to lay the fur down on the bed. 

“Would you like some food?” You asked. 

“Later is fine.” You bit back a question, wanting to ask him whether there was anything else he needed help with. It could be seen as a suggestion for gratification, rather than assisting him with the injury. You added more wood to the fire to ensure a warm blaze. The heater should have a little bit of battery left and would be used when he was ready to rest. 

“Are you okay?” He queried, elbows resting on his thighs. 

“I am well.” 

“But are you okay?” 

“I don't understand.” 

“You just seem a bit. . .” 

“Yes?” 

“Nothing I. . .I guess it's just been a while.” 

“How long has it been?” 

“More than three months, according to this system's calendar.” Three months? It had been more than three months? That was double the estimate. So much time had been lost while you were completely unaware, clueless of the days and nights. Without sunlight you couldn't-

“Something wrong?” The Mandalorian asked with a firm tone.

“No,” you replied. He watched you for a few moments as you wondered whether you'd spoken the truth or not. He reached for a pouch on the belt around his waist and pulled out a relatively small object. 

“I found a battery for the heater. Should last quite a while.” A nod of gratitude was given when he handed it to you.

“Thankyou.” You placed it at the end of the bed alongside the heater. 

“Aren't you going to take out the dead one?” 

“There should be some charge remaining.” 

“What? Why would there-” He stopped himself and sighed heavily, heaving his shoulders up and down. You supposed that he would have wanted you to use the heater until the battery was depleted. It wasn't something that had crossed your mind. 

“The fire was sufficient heat.” 

“What are you talking about? It's freezing in here.” He was not pleased, and it was not feigned for your convenience but his own. You were about to turn to the pit and add more logs to the fire when he caught your arm. 

“I didn't mean to be gone for so long,” he murmured softly, like he was gently asking for forgiveness. 

You were unsure of his meaning, uncertain whether he intended to use this as a segue into physical intimacy, or whether this was another softening up technique where its rewards would be realised later on in the evening when you were both settled in bed. 

There was nothing to say to him. There was no reason for you to show gratitude, or for you to apologise. No other commentary could be made, nor any question asked to further the conversation on. You couldn't find a way to reply to him, even after so many years of training. Your mind was blank, unable to work out whether you should prepare yourself now or later for what was to come. 

You simply didn't know. 

He let go of your arm after a while and you took a step away from him, but didn't leave him as you waited for him to say something else, or to dismiss you so that the fire could be tended to as he was cold. 

“I shouldn't have taken one of your furs.” 

“It was needed,” you shot back, unable to control the words from escaping your mouth. 

“But the heater wasn't?” The tension thickened and you lowered your head in submission.

“Don't worry about it,” he told you, as if he was expecting you to apologise. You tended to the fire at the subtle dismissal, adding numerous logs to the pit to get the blaze going high. 

When you looked up, he was watching you. Instead of turning away, you held his gaze, using the stoker to shift the logs without looking at what you were doing. Less than half a minute must have passed when he broke the stalemate and pulled out his blaster to begin cleaning it. The action was a gentle reminder of his superiority, and the threat he posed. 

The rest of the afternoon and early evening continued much the same. He inspected the blaster, and stripped it apart, leaving its parts on the bed and on his thigh. Chores were completely quietly to ensure he was not disturbed. When dinnertime came around, you enquired what he wanted to eat.

Time was spent cooking the dinner, ensuring that it was flavoured well and that the spices would go well with the specific packet he had chosen to eat. A strange temptation came to mind to eat one of the protein bars rather than one of the packets. It would be seen as insubordination and he would insist that you eat properly, even though it was him who disliked the protein bars. 

When his meal was ready, you sank down to your knees with the blindfold. The position was a necessary reminder of what you were, and that your purpose was to serve. You would eat what he wanted, you would take he gave you, and you would be thankful for it all. 

Your dinner was eaten with much less enthusiasm than over the last few weeks. In your peripheral vision, you could see the Mandalorian eyeing you once more, perhaps about to ask what was wrong. To prevent the question being asked, you made a show of the food being too hot, and that you were waiting for it to cool down. It took about a minute for his attention to fade from you. 

He prepared himself for bed not long after you finished dinner. The belt around his waist and the ammunition cartridges on his leg were removed. You added more logs to the fire and went to the heater while the Mandalorian was getting settled underneath the furs. When you switched out the old battery for the new one he had brought. You turned to see that he had paused, arm holding up the fur like he had stopped himself while watching what you were doing. A second passed before he lowered it down and laid out on the bed close to the wall. Had you done something wrong? The old battery wouldn't last long, probably not for the whole night which was what he required. 

He didn't hold up the fur like he did last time, inviting you to lay with him. But when you were in bed he moved the blanket over you and made sure you were tucked in. The gesture made that sensation come back around your heart, that unfamiliar lightness. You did not lay on your side facing the fire, but laid on your back, waiting for him. For some reason, you felt relaxed next to him, even though you should have prepared for what was about to happen. 

You needed to be ready to pleasure him, but instead you were noting how pleasant it was with him beside you. The heat of him was already starting to be felt. His presence was comforting. 

He had trained you well. 

In that unknown time when you were trapped inside the cave, the feeling of loneliness had been recognised. Working on the tunnel had pulled back that emotion from the foreground and it hadn't been thought of since. But now that he was here with you, it was clear that you hadn't understood how acute the feeling truly was.

He laid a hand on your hip and pushed your body up, encouraging you to turn on your side. When you complied, he manoeuvred himself flat against your back, ensuring that the furs were wrapped around the both of you properly. 

The only noises in the cave were from the fire crackling, the occasional noise from the heater and the sound of him breathing softly. You wanted to close your eyes and allow yourself to drift off to sleep. 

“It must have been lonely in here by yourself, not able to go outside.” 

“The long snow was tolerable.” 

“You don't need to lie to me,” he whispered. “It's okay.” The arm around your waist began to shift. He slipped his hand under your coat and began to move it in lazy circles over your stomach. He was rubbing the sweater rather than your bare skin. The movements should have made you feel even more relaxed, it should have made you enjoy his presence more, but it was rather doing the opposite. 

You didn't like the facade, how he was trying to gently urge you to touch him. It made you feel deeply uncomfortable that his desires were not explicit. He kept doing it for a couple of minutes, his hand gradually getting lower. A swell of panic went through you when his gloved hand went underneath your clothes and caressed your bare skin. 

For a few moments you couldn't move. You were only registering how you were completely unaroused, how you should have been reacting to his touch when you weren't. He wouldn't like that. 

Your arm reached behind you, and immediately began to do the same to him. With your hand, you were running it over the bare skin of his stomach and then travelled lower to the trail of hair. You went underneath his underwear and almost faultered when you could feel his hand going lower on you. Mindlessly you grabbed onto his cock without preamble, he moaned loudly at the touch. 

It was easier than last time. At least now you had an idea of what he liked, and you were beginning to understand his preferences. You clenched your fist and began working him fast, hoping to keep him distracted. It didn't take long for his hand to move away and latch onto your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. 

His noises were arousing like before, their intensity hadn't waned at all. You wondered why you were reacting to him in such a way, curious why his pleasure gave you your own. It wasn't the training, otherwise you would have responded as soon as he began to touch you. Perhaps it was because he was a Mandalorian, it made his open pleasure taboo considering their secrecy. Was that what you were getting off on? To know that someone who would not allow anyone to see their face or their bare skin, was allowing you to touch their cock and bring them to pleasure? 

He didn't last as long like the first time.

He stopped you before he came, and he put a piece of cloth in between you, something to clean up his come. As he orgasmed, he moaned and muttered something in a language you didn't recognise, the intonation suggested profanity. 

He shifted the cloth away a few moments later and wrapped himself around you, sighing deeply.

You stared at the fire for a long while, knowing that you had been lucky. This was only going to get worse. 

\- - -

In the morning, he was hard again. You didn't move, and pretended you were still asleep in hopes that he would move away. Thankfully he did, and he shifted away slightly, but kept an arm over you. 

He remained sitting on the bed while you prepared breakfast. When he handed you the blindfold, you wondered whether it was what he used for his come, but it wasn't damp and it didn't smell of anything. 

After you had some food, he helped you shovel out more snow from the tunnel. At first you worked together, taking turns digging with the shovel and then using the knife to cut out blocks of compacted snow. You worked for less than half an hour when he ushered you back inside, telling you that it was too cold to do anymore. 

You closed up the door behind you, hoping that more progress could have been made. There was still sunlight, so it made sense to use every last bit of it. He poised the cold being the excuse, but you wondered whether his injury was more severe than you'd previously thought. You carefully watched him as he sat down on the bed, he lowered himself down slower than usual. He caught you staring, but said nothing.

He wanted to keep his injury concealed, that irritated you more than it should. You had helped him when he was injured in the past on numerous occasions. Was it something that was beyond the available equipment in the medkit? Perhaps it was an internal injury, something that would heal naturally with rest. 

While he remained on the bed, you wanted to insist that work could continue until dusk as the fur would keep you warm. A decision was made not to say anything as you didn't want to agitate him. The best option at the moment seemed to be to wait until he finally asked for help with his injury. 

He sat for a few moments before he picked up the belt and secured it around his waist. You began to feel anxious when he strapped on the ammunition cartridges, when the light on his vambrace came on. Was he leaving so soon? Surely he needed to rest? Were you not. . .had you not given him what he wanted last night? 

“It's time for me to go.” The Mandalorian announced when he stood up from the bed.

“Did I not-” You blurted out. 

“Did you not what?” 

“Did I not please you?” 

“What?” 

“Did I not pleasure you correctly?”

“You uh. . .it was. . .fine.” 

“Unsatisfactory?” 

“No, it was. . .satisfactory. Look, I've got a new quarry to find. I only wanted to check up on you here, and I'll be back soon.” 

“But you're-” You caught yourself again. What was wrong with you? Why couldn't you stop yourself from blurting things out? It was like he was decaying the control you had over yourself. 

“I'm what?” 

“You are. . .most kind to check on me.” 

“That's not what you were going to say.” His words made your heart ache. When he took a step towards you, the feeling intensified. He saw right through you, yet again. You couldn't lie to him. Nothing could be hidden from him. You swallowed anxiously, preparing yourself for punishment as the truth would be spoken. 

“Apologies. It is not my place, but you appear to be injured in some way. I only wanted to help you and see you well.” 

“The last job didn't go as planned, it's nothing really.” Your eyes flicked down to his chest, thinking of the times you'd seen him tense and clearly in discomfort. You nodded in response to him. 

“Don't think that I'm lying. I told you that we were going to be honest with each other and I meant it.” 

“I understand.” 

“Do you?” 

“I'm-I'm sorry?”

“Do you really understand that? Because you haven't been honest with me. You said you were okay when you weren't.” Your head lowered, eyes now focusing on his boots, wanting to say the same words to him. But it wasn't your place. It would never be your place.

“I don't like it when you lie to me, and I don't want you to do it again.” 

“No lies will be spoken to you again. I apologise.” 

His hand came under your chin and lifted your head until you were looking at him. 

“I'll be back soon, okay?” You nodded when he pulled his hand away. He turned to the bed and picked up a fur to lay over his shoulders. You picked up his snowshoes and asked his permission to put them on for him outside the cave. The tunnel was too small for the snowshoes to fit while climbing through with them on. He agreed, and you prepared yourself for the journey to the ship, picking up your own fur and snowshoes. 

You headed out first and had put on your snowshoes when he'd gone through the tunnel and up the path. When his snowshoes were tied on properly, you both headed off into the forest. Rather than following behind, he dropped his pace to walk beside you. 

“How long until winter is over?” He asked without looking over. 

“Another few months.”

“It'll be nice to see the forest in the spring.” 

“I look forward to it.” 

“It's a while yet though.” 

“Yes, a while yet.”

\- - -

True to his word, he came back nine days later. In that time, you'd dug out the rest of the tunnel. The door to the cave was finally free of snow. 

You carried his fur to the Razor Crest where he waited for you. He spoke a little on the way through the forest, commenting on the clear skies and bright sun. He complimented your work on clearing the cave entrance. The sincerity of the statement only made you more convinced of his injury, and that it had not been as insignificant as he claimed. 

As he settled on the bed, you carefully untied his snowshoes. It was like he had been here only yesterday, the time without him had passed so quickly. When he had left, it felt as if he had cracked you open. 

He had seen you, like no one ever had before. 

It made you feel exposed in a way you had never experienced on Oresia. Your former owners never knew you as he did. His skills at bounty hunting made him adept at reading people, finding them, uncovering the truth. He was more than you'd ever conceived. 

He had known you'd been lonely. After the long snow, and all those weeks of darkness, to feel that made sense. It was only natural reaction to covet the warmth and company of another. But now that he was here again, now that the grip of winter was finally loosening, you still wanted him beside you. As you took off one of his snowshoes, you could only think about how much you needed him to lie beside you, to tuck you in, to hold you close. You needed to feel his warmth, hear his breaths, know that he was with you. 

How could you feel this way? Even after everything that happened? He only wanted gratification, he never actually cared about you. 

When you took off his other snowshoe and moved to stoke the fire, a sinking realisation hit your gut. It didn't matter what he really wanted from you, the facade of his kindness didn't mean anything. That comfort you sought from him was more important than his lies, more important than how he had hurt you. 

It was pathetic. 

No matter how many times you tried to convince yourself, nothing changed the way you felt. 

“Come over here,” the Mandalorian told you. Immediately you turned back and began to kneel down before he stopped you and patted his hand on the furs next to him. You sat down on the bed, head lowered, shoulders tensed. 

He gripped onto your hand which was on your lap and pulled it over to rest on his thigh. His fingers entwined with yours, his thumb running over your skin. A soft breath escaped you. 

“I said I'd be back soon,” he told you quietly, turning his body towards you. His other hand came under your chin, gently directing you to face him. You stared at the visor of his helmet, knowing you'd never see the eyes underneath. What colour might they be? How much pain would be in them? He'd never had to hide himself, his eyes would reveal everything. You supposed yours did too, he was able to read you, see you for what you were. 

For a long moment, you sat taking each other in, quietly keeping each other company. The crackling of the fire became nothing but background noise as you basked in his presence, how his leg pressed against yours, the soft touch of his gloved thumb running over your wrist. Everything felt right, this felt real. Nothing else mattered. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Yes,” you replied honestly. “And yourself, if I may ask?” 

“You can always ask. And yeah. . .I'm okay too.” His head tilted down, looking at both of your hands for a few seconds before he turned his attention back to you. 

“I wanted to. . .return the favour,” he murmured, using his free hand to pull something from his belt. You had to force yourself not to visibly react at the sight of lubrication. “I haven't had the chance to look after you yet.” 

Your heart ached, eyes pricking with tears. This was what he wanted. You had enjoyed a brief moment of calm, and it was gone now. This had been his motivation, his way to calm you, prepare you for what was going to happen. 

“It is not. . .necessary.” 

“I want to,” he told you, his hand gripping more tightly onto yours. A nod was given to demonstrate subservience. “Lie back.”

When you obeyed him, he took off the belt around his waist, along with the holster and the blaster. You supposed you should have begun to disrobe, spread your legs, shift your hips to the edge of the bed but you couldn't move. 

You were starting to panic. 

He was lying down on his side next to you, his hand running over your thigh. He untied your boots and pulled them off. He unbuckled your pants and rather than asking you to raise your hips, he slid a hand underneath your waist, lifting you up and taking them off himself. Sitting up on the bed, he turned on the heater before returning his hand onto your thigh, rubbing up and down. He put his hand in your underwear, in between your legs. 

“You're not. . .” he trailed off. You swallowed nervously, wondering how to articulate an apology. You were not aroused. He was going to hurt you for it. 

“Part of the nerve damage?” He asked softly. You stared at him mindlessly for a few moments, letting the question sink in. It was a perfect excuse and he had given it to you on a platter. A nod was given to confirm his suspicions. 

“It's okay,” he told you. “Turn over.” Twisting onto your front, he corrected your position again, telling you to get on your knees. No longer in his line of sight, your expression cracked, eyes wide, jaw tense, eyebrows furrowed. 

His hand ran over the back of your thighs for a minute or two before he finally pulled down your underwear. You gripped tightly onto the furs, trying not to shake. 

“Is it too cold to take off your coat?” His question was answered by taking the coat off and placing it down beside you. He pushed your sweater and top forwards, caressing your lower spine and gradually making his way down. His movements were hesitant, excruciatingly slow as he gently squeezed and traced his fingers over your ass. 

You forced yourself to moan to encourage him to go faster. Thankfully you heard him opening up the lube, and a few seconds later without preamble, his wet finger was ready to slip inside you. He pushed in slow, tortuously slow, but stopped when you could feel the plate armour on his hand against your skin. You groaned in half discomfort when he pulled out too fast. He was shuffling about with something, you couldn't make out what he was doing. 

“I need you to wear this.” You turned only slightly, seeing him holding out the blindfold. You quickly put it on, tying it tightly around your head. With your hands latching onto the furs again, he slipped his finger back inside you, this time without any plate armour protecting the back of his hand. He was slow, careful, making sure you felt every bit of him. A moan escaped your lips, the noise couldn't be helped.

When he slipped in another finger, you exhaled loudly before unsteadily sucking the air back in. Gradually he increased his paced, working you faster bit by bit. But then his pace slowed. You groaned at the sensation, almost swearing under your breath. He moaned softly in response to your groan. You were unsteady on your hands and had to lower yourself down onto your elbows, resting your head on the bed in an attempt to stabilise yourself. 

His other hand pressed against your lower back and he moved it in slow circles like he was trying to settle you. He picked up his pace again, fucking you with his fingers harder and deeper than before. Your heavy breaths were part moans. The soft noises he was making panged arousal in your gut.

As his speed slowed down once more, your legs were shaking. The position of your body was not unfamiliar in any way, and yet he made you feel so vulnerable, so exposed. He hummed gently before his other hand went in between your legs. You let out a startled moan, you were certainly no longer unaroused. He worked the advantage immediately, his other hand matching the speed of his two fingers inside of you. His groans were getting louder as yours were, like your pleasure was reflecting his. You were getting close, you were going to come. 

“P-Please can I-”

“Yes,” he grunted. You came a second later, half-shouting as the pleasure took you. Before you collapsed onto the bed, his arm was around your waist, holding you up. His fingers didn't stop fucking you until you cried out again, your body naturally twisting away, the sensations too intense. He wiped something in between your legs before lowering you down onto the bed. 

It took a while to catch your breath. You were lying face down on the furs. Your body twitched when his fingers ran down your leg. A sudden awareness hit you. 

Fuck, what were you doing? You'd forgotten yourself, too wrapped up in pleasure, in your selfishness. Getting up onto your knees, you crawled over to him, reaching out until you felt his hand. Moving along his arm and his body, you put your hand in between his legs. He grunted softly when you felt how hard he was. You would have to make up for your inattention. He helped you pull down his pants and underwear until his cock was bare. With your hand on the base, you leaned forwards and put your lips around him. 

He let out a strangled moan, his hands grabbing onto both your shoulders, but he didn't push you away. He mumbled something under his breath, words from an unknown language. One of his hands slipped around the back of your neck, urging you to continue. You pulled down the foreskin, sucking at the head before taking more of him into your mouth. His moans were more uncontrolled than when you'd used only your hand. You worked faster, entranced by his pleasure. It didn't take him long to finish, it must have been less than a minute. 

He came into your mouth with a low growl and you swallowed every last drop of come, noting a rather neutral taste to him. He urged you to lay down beside him. He was breathing hard for a few moments before you felt him get off the bed. You heard water splashing, he was probably washing his gloves. 

“You can take the blindfold off,” he murmured. When you complied, he gestured for you to come over to wash your hands too. His hand was covered once more with the plate armour. With the cleaning complete, you both returned to the bed. He explained that he'd used a cloth to keep the furs clean. Rather that than your come getting everywhere you supposed. You thanked him and said you would clean the piece of cloth for him, but he urged you to rest instead. Lying down next to him, he was up against your back, arm tightly wrapped around you. 

Your mind was blank. 

\- - -

He left the next day. 

After he had. . .looked after you, the rest of the day played out how they usually did. Chores were completed, he inspected his blaster. A large dinner was cooked for him, the smell of it fragrant and appetising. He thanked you for the food as he had in the past. Later than night, he allowed you to pleasure him once more. He came into your mouth again. It was cleaner than using your hand. 

In the morning he was hard again and he didn't shift away. You hoped that he would be too caught up his pleasure to consider your own, but after he came, he fucked you again with his fingers. He started off with two, and then finished with three. You thought he was going to fuck you with his cock, but he must have been saving that for next time. 

He walked beside you back to the Razor Crest, the skies weren't as clear as yesterday. A blanket of clouds was coming in from the east. He nodded to you in farewell, handing back the fur to you. A bow was given. When the ship started up, you'd already reached a safe distance past the treeline and into the forest. 

The engines whined as the ship began to take off, but you didn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow you guys, your kind words just blow me away honestly. I read over each comment again and again, and still I can't help but squeal like a dumb bitch every time. Apologies for the delays between chapters, I like giving you good chunks of story and I'm unfortunately a slow writer. But write I do. And I'm still going!
> 
> I hope you're all doing well, and that this gives you something of a distraction for a little while. Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Atmo x
> 
> [P.S. How much do you hate me now? :P]


	8. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are doing well and keeping safe! Apologies for the delay, I was struggling with this chapter so I'm really happy to finally get it out. Your comments fuel me every day even though my mind is drifting. I'm determined to finish this story and there's plenty more to go! Thanks for sticking with me, hope you enjoy this chapter. Atmo x

Things were different between you. 

He'd kept up a good show at first, making comments here and there, asking how you were doing, even detailing the particularly verbose bounty he'd found before coming back. They'd tried to offer their children in their stead, attempted to bargain with the Mandalorian as their children had committed more crimes than they had. He had spoken as if it was a charming tale, an absurd and unrealistic story where people treated their children like commodities. 

You hadn't been certain if he was mocking you, he knew what you were, but then the stories about Mandalorians were considered. Their protectiveness of their families and those of their kind was evident. That must have been what he meant. At least, that was what you had hoped. 

You had forced yourself to be more responsive to him, to reply when spoken to like you had before. It had been difficult, part of you wanting to only do the bear minimum, to test the lines of acceptability and wanting to be reduced by his punishment. Maybe the suffering would quell the feelings inside of you. Maybe then you wouldn't care so much about lying next to him, and wanting him to keep you company.

“Tell me about where you're from,” he ordered one night, after you had pleasured him with your mouth. He hadn't played with you yet. You were hoping that he didn't care to. His hand was resting on your shoulder, his chest plate hard against your back. 

For a moment, you wondered whether he was asking you about where you'd been born, but soon realised that he was talking of Oresia, not the place before. That was forbidden. Even if it wasn't, the memories had mostly been lost over the years, only mere fragments remained. You spoke briefly of Oresia, of its moons and people. His attention seemed to wane after a minute or two, so you fell silent. 

“You told me once that it wasn't your home. Do you have anywhere you call home?”

Here, you thought. 

“Khorixas IX is different from Oresia, but I have become used to it and its weather, though it can be rather extreme,” you replied neutrally, ensuring that your response wouldn't be too overt. It could not be explicitly stated that Khorixas was your home. He was probably testing you, checking that the answers were adequate, that you had not attached yourself to this place as it would be most inappropriate. He decided where your home was.

“Did you like living on Oresia?” 

“I learnt much there, it was where I came of age.” 

“So that's a no,” he gleaned accurately. 

“I suffered. . .a loss there.”

“The daughter, right?”

“Yes. I looked after her.”

“What was she like?” 

“She was kind,” you replied, picturing her face. “She loved hearing stories.” You used to tell her all sorts of tales most nights when she was young, speaking of great planets and cultures, heroic people fighting in wars whether they were high born leaders or lowly warriors. She would smile and laugh, her eyes would be bright with such passion. 

And then she had laid on the ground, body half burnt, leg missing, arm twisted, eyes wide open and there was no life in them. You'd tried to close them, but her eyes remained fixed open. You kept trying over and over, but they wouldn't shut. Why wouldn't they shut? Why wouldn't her eyes ever shut?

“I bet she did,” he murmured, his hand squeezing your shoulder, bringing you back to the present. He worked his way down your arm, his hand tracing over your stomach before slipping underneath your sweater. He caressed your skin only for a few moments before he sunk down into your underwear, the purpose of his question was made clear. He had used the conversation as a tactic to become closer with you, as a means to employ verbal intimacy and then follow it with a physical one. It would ensure you would be more responsive, more open. 

You wish you weren't aroused. But your body had caught up. It knew what was going to happen and it responded in kind. The past training had finally come to fruition. You were ready and waiting, as you were meant to be. If it was only a few weeks ago, you would have felt that panic, that sinking feeling in your gut. You would have reacted poorly to his intentions and how he feigned interest in you to merely open you up, get you ready for him. 

It had only been a matter of time before the training kicked in and it altered your behaviour to what was correct. You should have been disheartened by it, infuriated that you would always be affected by the past, that you had so little control over yourself.

But you didn't really care. The subconscious arousal was marring whatever anxiety or discomfort that existed. It forced you to focus on the Mandalorian. Bringing him pleasure was what he desired, and it was the only reason why he was here. 

With his hand in between your legs, you made all of the appropriate vocal responses which were mostly genuine. He made it so easy for you. Whenever he touched you, he would always make you come unless you successfully distracted him. He was learning about what you liked almost as fast as you learnt about him. 

You moved your hand behind your back, and almost got your hand in his underwear when he stopped and shifted away. He handed you the blindfold a short moment later. When it was on, you began to turn over to get on your knees but he grabbed onto your shoulder, guiding you back down to the bed. The arousal wasn't strong enough to obscure the sudden apprehension. Usually when he fucked you with his fingers, he'd have you on your knees. But now you were lying on your back and he was manoeuvring himself on top of you. 

You heard the familiar sound of the lube opening. He forced your legs to open wide and moved one of the furs underneath your lower back to raise your hips. 

He was going to fuck you. 

The position he had chosen was strange, intimate almost. Perhaps it was more comfortable for him. Even if he couldn't see your eyes, you had to make sure your expression was blank, that your jaw was lax rather than tensed, mouth parted open slightly in want. 

He pushed a finger inside of you, and it didn't take him long until he slipped in a second. He was adept at working you to a pace, getting you near to the edge before pulling you back and bringing you up again. The Mandalorian liked control in all aspects of his life it seemed. He didn't allow you to give yourself to him, to pledge your servitude, he had done that for you. Of course he would want to deny you, taunt and tease you until you were aching and desperate. 

He hummed and groaned in pleasure, the sounds always made you ache with arousal. When he pushed a third finger inside of you, the moans spilling from your mouth were helpless and constant. But he never picked up the pace again, he worked slow, stretching you. When he pulled out, you had to force yourself to calm down, knowing what he was going to do. You could feel his cock about to push inside of you. 

“You ready?” He asked, his voice low. Words couldn't be spoken so you nodded at him. Sucking in a breath, you exhaled slowly and tried to relax as much as possible. He moved gradually, giving you time to adjust to every inch of him. You didn't breath in until he was at the hilt. You shuddered when you felt a weight on your shoulder, from the feel of it you guessed it was his helmet. 

He mumbled something incomprehensibly. He sounded so close. Lifting your legs, you wrapped them loosely around his waist and made him go even deeper. He grunted at the movement. The weight of his helmet was lifted as he moved off you, one of his hands latched onto yours, his fingers digging into your skin. His other hand, wet from the lube, came around your neck. The pressure on your throat was minimal, it was less possessive and more stabilising for him. 

As he began to move his hips, you moaned with him. His thrusts were slow and deep at first, but it didn't take him long to pick up the pace. You were entranced by the sounds he made, enraptured by his pleasure like nothing else before. He came only a few minutes later, his growl louder than you'd ever heard it.

He pulled out and slumped beside you, his come leaking out of you. Immediately he used a cloth to wipe you down. His heavy breaths slowed along with yours as time was taken to recover. Getting off the bed, he washed his gloves before coming back to the bed and sitting down next to you. 

“Can you lift your head for me?” He asked quietly. When his order was obeyed, he untied the blindfold. He was closer than you expected, his fingers gently brushing under your chin. 

“Thankyou,” he murmured, though the gratitude seemed to be for more than simply lifting up your head. When he got back in bed, he pulled the furs around you, tucking you in as he always did now. 

A short time passed. The skin on your neck was sticky. He was breathing softly like he had fallen asleep. With every inhale you made, the sensation of his moans reverberating around your chest seemed to echo. It was akin to that lightness that was felt in your heart months ago now, when things had been different, when you had felt relaxed with him, when you had felt. . .safe. 

You thought of the night's activities, how he had you on your back, how his fingers felt inside you, how he grasped your hand, how his fingers had been on your throat, how he fucked you, how he came. 

You wondered why he had held your hand. 

\- - -

It would have been easier if you didn't enjoy it so much. 

There was no longer a line between the training and your real emotions. It was a blurred mess, interchangeable. You didn't know if you actually enjoyed him fucking you or whether it was simply because that's what your body had been taught to do. At first you had been uncomfortable, panicked, it had been clear that no enjoyment was taken from obeying him. Yet now you were as aroused as he was. 

You'd never really thought about the training. It was just what you were. But those months of freedom had opened the door to questions that should never have been asked. If you ever grew old, would the training still be part of you? Had it marred you entirely, with total precision and constancy that made it utterly inescapable? Would it define who you would always be? 

Would you never have a choice?

The feelings you had towards him were becoming incomprehensible. His touch was imprinting on you. Recalling a memory of him became physical, you could feel his touch on your body, the sensation of him inside of you, his hands on your skin, on your throat. He could never be detached from you. There was no escape from him, no relief to the endless pleasure he gave you. He relished every time he made you come. He was right there with you through all of it, he did not simply stop when you reached orgasm as less attentive lovers would do. Instead he exploited every moment of your peak until you could not take anymore, until your body twitched away from him, unable to bear any further sensation.

You did not dream of him pleasuring you. It would have made sense if you did, if you dreamt of him fucking you in more exploratory ways, him binding your arms and legs together, gagging your mouth and clamping his hand tight around your throat. Instead you dreamt of his soft intimacies, him holding your hand like he didn't want to let go, his fingers grazing underneath your chin like you were something to be cherished. The cool metal of his helmet would be pressed against your forehead, he would murmur things to you, the words were foreign but you understood their affectionate meaning. 

In your dreams, he cared for you. He would lie facing you on the bed, his legs entangled with yours, the tips of his fingers tracing over your palm like there was nothing more important in the galaxy. He would sigh in relaxation, hum in contentment. 

“Close your eyes,” he would whisper. Lifting a hand to cover your eyes, he gently stopped you. “You don't need to cover them like that, just close them. I trust you.” 

That lightness swirled around your heart before gradually dissipating outwards into the rest of your body. You were almost overwhelmed by his admission, by the trust he had placed in you. With your eyes closed, you heard rustling of clothes but couldn't work out what he was doing. When his fingers returned to caress your palm, you gasped in surprise. 

He wasn't wearing his glove, he'd taken it off, why had he taken it off? You wrenched your hand away, assuming it must have been on accident.

“Your glove,” you reminded him. 

“I took it off.” 

“What?”

“It's okay,” he told you, his bare hand lying flat over yours. His skin was softer than you imagined. Your eyes started to water. You swallowed hard, trying to hold yourself together. “I trust you, remember?” 

After you nodded at him, a tear slipped down your cheeks. His thumb wiped across your face. He held you close as he told you two stories, in return for the two you had shared with him. 

When you woke that morning, the dream haunted you for hours. It had taken longer than it should have to understand that none of it had happened, and with that realisation you experienced pain akin to grief. To think how you longed for something that wasn't even real. 

To think how you could mourn for something you would never have. 

\- - - 

Spring was on its way.

The sun would rise above the horizon and every day it seemed to be reaching further up into the sky. The harsh chill of winter gradually faded away into something much more manageable. No longer did you have to wear a fur inside the cave, eventually you didn't have to wear your coat either. The snow showers were infrequent and lighter. You had even begun work clearing the snow from the patch of land that had been chosen for the garden. 

You were also able to make regular trips to the lake again. There was little Marika to be had at first, but as the weeks passed, you were able to catch a couple at a time. On one of the trips to the lake, you were heading through the forest when you heard a bird from afar. Immediately you stopped, thinking you'd imagined it, or had mistaken it for something else, but the bird sung again. 

For so many months, the forest had been silent, life had retreated away as you had during the long snow. But now, life was beginning to rouse. You basked in the sound of birdsong, wanting to sing back to it, savour the excitedness in your gut, relish what was to come in the warmer months. 

But the birdsong was interrupted by a different noise. It was getting louder each second, the tone was much lower, it was coming from even further away. Your gut tightened when you realised it was the Razor Crest. Looking up through the trees, you made out its shape coming in to land. 

You had almost arrived at the lake, it would take you more than twice as long getting back to the cave than it would normally to reach the ship. You started to run through the snow, panic seizing at your veins, mind conjuring what punishment he would have in store for your tardiness. Sprinting through the trees, you willed yourself to go as fast as possible. But it wasn't enough. 

You slowed when you saw him standing outside the cave. 

“Where have you been?” He demanded as you approached him.

“My apologies, I was going to the lake to-” 

“I was waiting for you,” he told you, there was something heavy in his tone that you didn't understand. Your heart ached at his words. “Haven't you got enough food?” 

“Yes, the food crates are more than sufficient-” 

“So why do you need to go there?” You wanted to lower your head in shame, but kept your eyes focused on his visor as was his will. Before you could apologise again, he gestured for you to go inside. 

You got the fire going while he took off his belt, the blaster, and the ammo cartridges. He hadn't put on the snow shoes. With the blaze now adequate, the backpack was taken off and you were about to remove your coat when his hands rested on your shoulders. You froze, unaware that he'd come up behind you. Slowly, he took it off for you, carefully pulling it down your arms.

His arms came around your waist, his cold helmet resting against the back of your neck. You had to force back a shudder. Why did he have to hold you like this? Like you meant something to him? 

After a few moments he pulled away, you didn't turn around. You were fixed to the spot, arms hanging uselessly by your sides. When he put the blindfold on you, the relief was palpable. You understood this, you knew what he wanted from you. His hands were on your shoulders and then they began to slip down your arms, past your elbows and onto your wrists. 

He manoeuvred them behind your back and started to bind your wrists together. The Mandalorian had never done this before. You'd thought the way had been laid clear, but yet again his needs became unknown. The moment things made sense, they would change. 

“Is this okay?” He murmured. Initially you wondered if he was asking whether you consented to being tied up, but soon grasped his true meaning which was whether the binding was too tight. Your head moved up and down. Whatever was around your wrists was tied very competently. It was comfortable against the skin, but allowed no room for you to shift your hands. 

He guided you down onto your knees and moved away. He must have been inspecting you, circling around to gage the current state of his property. Is this when he'd strike you? When you couldn't see it coming? 

A finger traced over your lips. You opened your mouth, anticipating that he'd slip a finger inside but he made you wait for it. His movements were particularly slow, tracing so lightly over your bottom lip that your body shuddered helplessly. He moaned softly at your response. 

When his finger sunk into your mouth, he pressed it firmly against your tongue, working gradually backwards like he wanted you to feel every bit of him. He shifted back, letting the end of his finger run over your teeth before circling around your lips. He sunk back in, and you started to suck his finger, hoping that you interpreted his movements correctly. The sound of his satisfied hum encouraged you to continue, and it wasn't long before he had two fingers in your mouth. He set the rhythm, you merely responded to him. 

As he pulled away his fingers, your mouth opened wider. He didn't immediately push his cock into your mouth like you expected, rather he teased you for a few moments, letting his cock run over your mouth, allowing you to taste his pre-come. He placed a guiding hand at the back of your head and then started to fuck your mouth gently. 

He did most of the work and he didn't go particularly deep, never hitting the back of your throat. You supposed he was teasing you with that too. He liked to exercise control with a precision you were unused to. Normally the use of your hands afforded you the ability to bring him to the edge much quicker. What little control you'd had, he had taken from you. He built the rhythm up, gradually getting faster, his moans were becoming louder until his fingers dug into your scalp and he came with a low grunt. 

You were careful to take all of his come in your mouth, and tilted your head back to show him you hadn't let one drop go to waste. Before you could swallow, his fingers pressed inside your mouth. His other hand pulled off your blindfold. He had already tucked himself away. You looked up at him. 

A soft noise escaped your throat as he slowly pulled your bottom lip down. The come spilled over your chin and dripped onto your sweater. His fingers began to gently rub against your tongue. He tilted his head as he watched and you stared at him mindlessly. The intimacy of it. . .the abasement. . .it made your eyes widen. 

His hand then moved from your lips over your chin, and he dragged the come down your throat, marking you.

As he always did. 

\- - -

Months ago, you had become resolute in thinking that you could mark him in your own way, fuck him like no one else had. 

It had been a most absurd undertaking. 

The Mandalorian controlled everything. He always deterred whatever methods you would use to speed up his gratification. He would take all the time he wanted. He would not only seek his own pleasure, but yours. He would make you come over and over. He must have taken great satisfaction in seeing you on the edge, panting, aching, writhing beneath him. 

Eventually his conversation waned. He didn't talk to you as he once had, he didn't feign interest in you like he did at the beginning. He seemed more preoccupied in stripping you bare and fucking you whichever way he preferred. 

Sometimes he didn't bother to keep up the pretences of civility, rather he handed you the blindfold after the door to the cave had been shut. You wondered how long it would take him to get bored of you. How many months? How many years? Maybe there were others like you, others he kept at various corners of the Outer Rim. You would never meet them. You hoped they weren't as lonely as you were. They must have been on warmer, more populated planets. Khorixas seemed more than enough for him to tolerate. 

His visits, thankfully, became less frequent over spring and summer. The warmer weather provided a welcome reprieve from the cold, and it kept you endlessly occupied with chores. Though it was such a brief time, there was so much to do to prepare for winter. That was at least a solace. It gave you respite from dwelling on the Mandalorian, from worrying about every time you would hear the Razor Crest's engines whining as it came down to land. 

You spent many days on the garden, utilising the seeds which had been traded last year with the villagers. Watching the plants grow day by day gave you contentment, it was good to be self-sufficient, particularly after the failings of last year. During those first months after you'd arrived, food had been traded for furs and essential supplies, there wasn't enough for winter so you had to trade for the protein bars. 

The food packets, though he had asserted were for you, were meant for him. He never commented on the amount of rations remaining, he didn't bother to look through the crates as he once had. So you ate only a couple of them per week, rather than daily, it would be better to save them as a last resort in case this year's crops failed. 

There had been another occasion when you had been at the garden when he arrived. He was waiting for you outside of the cave, but didn't chastise you as he did last time. You were already aroused as you headed inside. He had trained you well. 

The hardest part about being with him was trying to keep yourself together. Your mind would drift, even as he pleasured you. It made it easier, but it never lasted long. He always seemed to be able to tell, so he worked you harder, made you come even more. If you had to fake the pleasure and the moans, it might have given you the chance to keep yourself present. 

The sensation of the disconnect with him, how little he spoke now, how little he pretended to care, was juxtaposed to how hard he fucked you, how he constantly brought you to the edge and took you over again and again. He was fucking a warm hole, something vaguely more responsive and organic than a droid. 

During the height of summer, the nights were still chilly, but the furs weren't needed like they were over the rest of the year. The Mandalorian had draped one of them over your legs. He had a minor injury to his arm which he had said nothing about, it didn't impede the activities he had planned. 

Though he was tucked against you, his presence offered nothing. It was like he wasn't really here. He wasn't the same person who complimented your cooking, sincerely thanked you for the help that was provided, who insisted that you looked after yourself and had even apologised to you for his anger. 

You suddenly realised how lonely you were. 

The feeling was like your chest was collapsing in on itself, it made your heart compress with such strength that it was almost getting difficult to breath. The dreams of his comfort, the relaxation he brought, that lightness in your heart, all of it only exacerbated the anguish of reality. 

When he was gone the next day, you packed the necessary supplies and headed off to the village. You left the cave only an hour after he did, there was no time to waste. It would take more than a week to get there and back, and you had to reduce the risk of him arriving when you weren't there as much as possible. Thinking of his anger made you walk faster. 

The journey to the village was much easier than the last one you had taken in winter for protein bars. You enjoyed the change of scenery and not having to dig into the snow each night for shelter like last time. When you arrived, the villagers insisted that you stay for the night before heading back. It felt almost surreal being in the company of other people aside from the Mandalorian. You wished you could have stayed longer. They told you stories of winter and stories of old, making sure that you were well fed too. Food and ration packets were traded for more equipment and tools, in particular a sturdy axe and a sharpening kit. 

You managed to shave almost half a day on the return leg to the cave by getting up before dawn each day and still walking when it was dark. But your efforts came to nothing, he didn't land for another six weeks, when the heat of summer was already beginning to wane. You should have stayed there, you could have listened to more stories, you could have built something of a kinship with people who were born on this planet. Even though they knew you weren't from Khorixas, they never made you feel unwelcome, but rather the opposite. They didn't know about the Mandalorian, they didn't know you were his property, that you were nothing but a slave. 

After sharpening the axe, you took it into the forest and started throwing it at one of the tree trunks close to the cave. You wanted it to hit the exact spot every time you threw it and kept going until you did. The point of balance on the axe was unfamiliar, it was nothing like the two blades. They were more evenly balanced, not top heavy. Memories of training with the blades began to surface, you recalled all those months wielding them, the intense preparations before the ceremony, and then what came after, the collar around your neck, the clamor of the crowd, the rage, the blood, the look of pride from your former owners. You pulled the axe from the tree and headed back to the cave. The bit had been worn from the constant impacts, so you sharpened it again. 

You didn't have nightmares about the ceremony that night, instead the Mandalorian asked what was bothering you. When you told him it was something from your past, he didn't insist on hearing what it was about, he didn't urge you to reveal all the details. He just held you tighter, mumbling something comforting to you, reminding you that you were safe and that he was here with you. 

When he finally returned those six weeks later and he was lying in bed next to you, you pushed backwards slightly against him, wanting him to hold you as tightly as he did in your dreams. 

\- - -

Summer had passed far too quickly. The heat had died away and the landscape grew quieter as animals began to burrow down for their winter hibernation. The snows returned as well. 

It had been less than a fortnight since his last visit and it was already your fifth trip to the lake. He had never explicitly forbidden you to go there, so numerous trips were always made soon after he'd left, in hopes that he wouldn't catch you out again. 

The lake had a three inches of solid ice on top, and it would only grow deeper as winter continued to draw in. You used the metal stake to dig a hole into the ice for the first line, the impact rippling up your arms. For some reason, the rhythm and the exertion brought back memories of carving out space in the cave wall. You had turned round to see him leaning casually by the door. He had caught you unaware, and tended to the cuts on your arm, telling you to look after yourself. 

He hadn't said that to you for a very long time now. 

With the hole dug, you prepped the first line, hoping for a successful catch. When it was finished, you stood and scanned over the lake, considering locations of where to dig next. Your body stilled when you spotted movement over a hundred metres away. It was big, moving at a slow and measured pace. You realised what it was, a snowbear the villagers called an Isabis, you'd only seen one from afar with the macrobinoculars. Dread filled your gut. 

The Isabis stood up on its hind legs in a territorial display. 

You wouldn't reach the hunting knife in time, it was packed away in the backpack. Even if you did, the blade would barely penetrate the Isabis' thick layer of fur. The only feasible weapon was the metal stake.

You weren't able to outrun it, it had superior speed. There was nowhere to go but down. You didn't know how strong a swimmer the Isabis would be, but it was your only chance. A few foot from the hole, you started to drive the stake down into the ice to create another one. When you broke through, the Isabis lowered down and began to stalk towards you, waiting for the right moment to go full speed. 

Immediately you began a third hole, hoping that the integrity of the ice would fail when the Isabis managed to reach you. On the fourth hole, it really began to move. You didn't have long. You powered down the stake again and again around you as the Isabis sprinted towards you, the ice was beginning to split apart. At the very last moment, you shifted backwards and held the stake in both hands, aiming at its mouth, bracing for impact.

With an ear-splitting growl, the Isabis lunged forwards about to strike with its claws. 

You felt intense pain on your torso before you felt it everywhere. The shock of cold was agonising. The ice had collapsed, you were in the water. Your eyes stung as you opened them, everything was blurry but you could make out the mass of the Isabis retreating. The clothes felt like massive weights, doing nothing but dragging you down further, you had to kick frantically to keep yourself from sinking. You were beginning to panic, you were out of breath, your entire body hurt. Hopelessly you swum towards the light, thinking you'd never make it. 

Somehow you broke the surface, desperately sucking in air. You swum to the edge of the ice and braced yourself onto it, allowing your legs to rest. After a few moments of recovery, you looked over the lake, remembering the imminent threat of the Isabis. In disbelief, you spotted blood on the ice and looked up to see it falling back into the distance. You had managed to injure it. 

You were violently shaking, you had to get out of the water as soon as possible. Kicking your feet, you tried to lay horizontal in the water. Bit by bit, you kept shifting forwards onto the solid ice, using your arms to drag yourself out of the water. 

When you finally managed to get onto the solid ice, you were utterly exhausted. The Isabis might circle back. This wasn't over, it was merely a brief reprieve. It had gotten away fast enough which meant it wasn't severely injured. You'd have to get back to the cave or you'd die of hypothermia. With the wet clothes, your chances weren't good. And that initial pain hadn't quite felt like it was from the cold. 

And not all of you was cold, that was strange. Warmth was beginning to spread across your torso. You turned over onto your side and looked down. Blood covered the ice, it covered your coat. You rolled back over onto your front.

This was bad. 

You were as good as dead. At least when the cold got you, the Isabis would have a good meal before the long snow. If the Isabis returned to the lake, you could always slip back into the water. It wouldn't be a nice way to go, but it would better than being eaten alive. 

The pain was agonising, helpless grunts spilled from your mouth. The bag was still on your back, the knife might be inside. You wondered whether you had the strength to deliver a final blow. It would need to be swift and deep enough. Maybe you didn't have to suffer. 

Your eyes slipped shut. 

You just wanted the pain to end, you wanted to sleep. The only thing that brought you comfort was thinking about the Mandalorian, imagining him lying down next to you. He was keeping you company, he was making the pain lessen. 

He was the one that took care of you in your dreams, not the one that came in his ship. He wouldn't let you die alone. A sob was working its way up your throat as you pictured him beside you, his hand would rest on your cheek. But then he moved away to reach for something behind you. When his hand returned, he was holding one of the fishing lines. Why was he showing you that? You blinked several times in confusion. Did he want to strangle yourself? Suffocating wasn't exactly fast, why would he want that for you? Why would he-

You suddenly understood. It wasn't a means to end your life but to save it. He wanted you to tie the line around the wound on your torso, apply pressure, reduce blood loss. He wanted you to get up and go back to the cave, he wanted you to live. 

You just wanted to sleep. 

He leaned forwards, the cold metal of his helmet pressing against your forehead. You tried to shake your head, but he held you steady. This was your time, why couldn't this be your time? It made sense, it felt right. You'd survived enough, hadn't you? You wanted the pain to be over, all of it. Why couldn't you just sleep? A while yet, he murmured, his hand pushing at your shoulder, forcing you to roll on your side. 

With shaky hands you began to manoeuvre the coat, trying to see how bad the damage was. You cried out in agony when you shifted too much and immediately let go. You'd have to look later. Managing to pull off the backpack, you pulled out a drenched scarf and another fishing line, somewhat amazed that they were still there. You pressed the scarf against the wound and shouted at the horrific sensation, but you were able to then tie the line around your body to keep it in place. 

You dragged your knee along the ice, readying yourself to get up. This was going to fucking hurt. You didn't want to stand on your feet, laying here was just fine. A while yet, the Mandalorian reminded you softly. 

You almost blacked out from the pain when you managed to get on your feet. Somehow you began the slog over the lake and back to the cave. Looking around the surroundings in case the Isabis was circling and following the scent of blood should have been a priority, but your energies were taken up by putting one foot in front of the other and making sure you didn't collapse. The dizziness was making it hard to concentrate. You had to redirect yourself a couple of times as you started walking off in the wrong direction. The Mandalorian's voice would quieten then, as you went the wrong way. He was constantly reminding you, warning you, protecting you.

Almost there, he reassured you. It felt as if you'd been walking for hours. It was endless. The snow and trees around you, the crunch of your boots, the horrific cold, his whispers, a while yet. . . almost there. . .keep going. You began to wonder whether you should believe him or not. But as soon as the thought crossed your mind, the cave came into view. 

When you went inside you stumbled over to the pit, making yourself get the fire going. You were trembling as you tried to strike the quartz against the slab. If the wound was severe enough, you wouldn't have made it back all the way back here, you had a chance. You had to get warm. When the fire was lit, you let out a sigh of relief. 

Before peeling off the soaked coat, you scrambled through the contents of the medkit and pulled out a painkiller to inject straight into your neck. While waiting for it to kick in, you managed to take off your boots and pants. As soon as you could feel the effects, you untied the fishing line and let the scarf drop onto the floor before taking off the coat. Oddly enough the pain wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. 

It was the rest of the layers you were wearing that were the problem, you soon realised. You cried out in agony, the pain below your chest was nothing but excruciating. You hadn't felt anything this bad since Oresia, and this was starting to rival even the worst days there. You had to take everything off, you didn't have the strength to cut through the clothing. 

Taking in a few deep breaths, you peeled off the rest and managed not to pass out, but it was a close thing. When you were more with it, you looked down, finally inspecting the damage the Isabis had inflicted. 

After only half a second, you had to look away. It was. . .

You had to fight back the nausea, your breath was coming short. Ignoring what you'd seen, you tried to dry yourself as much as possible before carefully moving the medkit next to the bed. You draped a fur over your shoulders and sat down on the mattress, covering your legs with another fur. 

Forcing yourself to look down again, you inspected the wound on your torso, seeing where the Isabis' claws had slashed at you. There were three large cuts, but the one in the middle had peeled off some skin which was now hanging loose. It would have to be. . .put back. The cauteriser and the bacta spray should seal it together and then the antibiotics would fight off any infection.

Knowing what had to be done, you pushed the thought of the pain to the back of your mind and grabbed another painkiller, this time injecting it next to the claw marks. No care was taken to read the instructions in case you were taking too much. Picking up his cauteriser with a shaky hand, you tried to calm down before beginning to painstakingly put yourself back together. 

It was agonising at first, but the second painkiller was taking effect. You were holding the torn skin back in place and used the cauteriser to fuse it back onto your body. When it was roughly back in place you breathed a sigh of relief and rested for a while, knowing that the worst was over. By that point you weren't shaking anymore, you were warming up quite well. After a few more minutes, you used the cauteriser for the two minor claw marks, and applied the bacta spray on the middle wound. You didn't want to use all of it in case the Mandalorian needed it on his return. You'd already used enough of his supplies. 

With the wounds mended to the best of your ability, you imagined him sitting by you, praising you, a comforting hand resting on your shoulder. He gestured to the door, the tarp and the fur weren't fixed down properly, a draft was coming in. But he meant something more than that. 

The Isabis might return. When it had recovered from its own wounds, it could easily follow the trail of blood from the lake back to the cave. It would be a shame after all that effort to get here for the Isabis to then find you and end up ripping you into pieces. 

Getting onto your feet, you dragged the food crates over to the door and piled them on top of one another, in hopes they would provide some protection in case the door was breached during the night. You put on a bandage around your torso before putting on some dry clothes and getting into bed. 

You knew how you should have felt as you pressed the furs against you. You should have been relieved, grateful to have survived, amazed that you had even made back here. 

But you didn't feel anything at all. 

\- - -

More painkillers had to be taken the next day. You used the cauteriser again to further seal the wounds, you'd have to do it several times until it became unperceivable. The coat needed to be cleaned and you tried your best scrubbing off the blood. What couldn't be washed out was ripped off. Picking up one of the fur blankets, you cut off a piece and managed to sew it onto the coat. Though the stitches were messy, it couldn't be seen, and the additional piece matched nicely with the rest of the fur. You hoped that the Mandalorian wouldn't notice, but you couldn't put it past him, an excuse would need to be thought up. At least the wounds would be properly healed by the time he returned in several weeks time. 

And yet, the Mandalorian came back only four days after the encounter with the Isabis. When you heard the Razor Crest's engines, you didn't quite believe it. He'd left only two weeks ago, he was usually gone at least twice as long as that. Panic began to bubble in your gut. You weren't yet recovered, you didn't think you could walk very far. How could you hide it? He'd know, he always knew. 

With no other choice, you injected yourself with a painkiller before going over the wounds again with the cauteriser. The remaining marks were faint, but they could still be seen if he looked closely. It was the best you could do. You would have to act as normal, the pain had to be ignored. You would need to keep your movements steady, walk very carefully to the ship. The coat and the pants had thankfully dried, but the boots were still damp. You quickly prepped some supplies before heading out to meet him. 

It wasn't long until he came into view. He gave you a short greeting before continuing to the cave. He seemed uninjured. It would have made sense if he came back early as he was injured in some way and needed time to rest. But there was no obvious injury, no limps, no stiffness in his limbs. At least he would not require anything from the medkit. 

Back in the cave, you immediately tended to the fire and turned on the heater to low. The heater would be mostly kept for the nights when he was here, but a small boost to the cave's temperature wouldn't go amiss. 

“The snow seems to be getting worse,” he commented dispassionately as he settled down on the bed. You responded with a brief account of the weather over the last two weeks, three snow flurries, quite a bit of wind last week, no storms as yet. The words felt more contrived than usual. It was almost like how it was on Oresia, the way that responses were given automatically and without emotion. You could feel yourself slipping away already, eyes staring at the fire numbly, chest rising with each breath. 

The sound of him taking off the belt around his waist brought everything back into focus. He placed the belt along with the blaster's holster carefully down onto the ground. He took off his cloak too and then the ammo cartridges below his knee. You hadn't recovered yet, you needed more time to heal. 

“How was. . .how was your journey here?” You asked, trying to stall him, trying to buy some time.

“What?”

“Your journey here. . .was it acceptable?” The Mandalorian continued to look at you. “There were no issues with the ship or. . .” you trailed off, unsure of what you were even saying. 

“It was fine.” You swallowed nervously at his curt tone. He gestured for you to approach him. When you were standing before him, he told you to take the coat off. You hadn't realised it was still on. With it off, he pulled out the blindfold.

Your heart sank, it was too late. Rather than handing it to you, he reached up and you lowered your head for him. He put it on himself, making sure that it was tightly secured. He manoeuvred you onto the bed, pushing on your shoulders until you were lying down on your back. 

The Mandalorian disrobed you quickly and it wasn't long until he had you turned over onto your hands and knees. After opening up the lube and stretching you out with a couple of fingers, it wasn't long until his cock sunk into you. He hadn't bothered to restrain you, he was impatient. 

You clutched onto one of the furs, the pleasure wasn't enough to override the pain in your torso. It got worse as he moved faster, his hand latched firmly on your shoulder, another on your hip. His moans were getting louder than yours, he was fucking you to the hilt with every thrust, it wouldn't be long now. He leaned against your back, the weight of him heavy and pressing you down. The position was too intimate. 

His moans turned to growls and you knew he was about to come. His pace quickened, he moved his hand away from your shoulder, and then off of your hips, both of his arms enclosed around your waist and you- 

You weren't moving.

You were lying on your front on the bed, your face pressed against the furs. Suddenly feeling excruciating pain in your torso, you barely managed not to cry out. Fingernails dug into your palms, you clenched your jaw, trying to breath through the pain. 

Had you. . .had you just blacked out? Last thing you remembered was him fucking you, his arms coming around you. . .but now he wasn't touching you at all. He was breathing heavily, he sounded close. He must not have noticed that you had passed out. Did you even make a sound when his arms squeezed against the wounds? You didn't remember. 

The pain began to fade a little over the next few minutes. You stayed completely still, not wanting to aggravate your torso anymore than he already had. He hadn't removed the blindfold, he wasn't done with you yet. 

An ache in your heart began to grow quickly. He hadn't noticed. Or maybe. . .maybe he had. Maybe he just didn't care. 

\- - -

He stayed only for one day. 

When he'd been lying in bed next to you, you had tried to imagine the Mandalorian in your dreams, but you weren't able to. He would shift in the bed, he would sigh slightly too loudly, he felt wrong. He wasn't the one you wanted, he wasn't the one who had saved you. He hadn't even noticed that you blacked out right underneath him. You were nothing but a warm hole. How could you have ever thought that he actually cared about you? How could you have been so stupid?

Keeping up an act of normalcy around him had been exhausting. When he left, you were mostly bedridden for a couple of days, recovering from the activities he made you enjoy. Nothing else was taken from the medkit, you'd already used enough. 

You waited for the dreams to return. You longed for the Mandalorian to tell you that he cared about you, that he would make you feel like you'd done the right thing by dragging yourself to the cave rather than slipping back into the water. 

But the dreams never came back. Frantically you tried to picture him next to you, his kind whispers, his gentle touch, but he wasn't there. All you could imagine was how the Mandalorian must have kept fucking you while you were unconscious, how he slipped his cock out of you and let your body drop lifelessly onto the bed. 

You began to fixate on the Mandalorian that was, the one that was real. Those few months after he first came to Khorixas must have been so boring for him. No wonder why he had remarked on numerous occasions that you were quiet. Being quiet meant that he couldn't get to know you as fast, it meant he couldn't reach the point where he felt comfortable in your company, where physicality became acceptable. 

It must have been so tedious for him, wasting all that time with you, pretending to care about what you said. 

One evening, you pulled out one of the datapads and returned to your studies, mostly in an attempt to distract yourself. Progress had been going very well, you'd even finished a couple of them now. You had a good grasp on the basics, it was merely a matter of going over the more complex details and fine-tuning the nuances.

But he. . .

He hadn't enquired about your progress for months, not since before summer or spring. . .no it was before that. He hadn't asked you about them since before the long snow. The datapads were tucked away before you settled down in bed. 

You stared at the fire numbly, chest rising with each breath.

\- - -

The snows seemed to be worse than last year. You didn't know if that was a good thing or not, if it was a sign of a mild long snow or whether it was a warning for a harsh one that would last for months. 

During his visits, he began to make use of the fur and the snowshoes. He brought two extra batteries for the heater, so you always kept it on while he was here. 

He arrived at dusk one day. You had to light the torch to guide the way back and the growing wind was threatening to blow it out. The snow was beginning to fall heavier, but both of you returned to the cave before it got even worse. 

After you pulled the fur off his shoulders and untied his snowshoes, he started to undress you and he immediately initiated the night's activities. 

That had been hours ago now. 

He was tucked against you in the bed, after being sated by dinner and another round of fucking. His knees were resting against the back of yours, arm slung heavy around your waist. The fire was dimming down, you'd need to stoke it again soon to ensure he was comfortable. 

With the storm the way it was, he would have to stay for a few days, maybe even longer if it didn't let up.

“How many people have you slept with?” He asked, the sudden sound of his voice making a jolt go through your body. You had thought he'd been asleep for a while now. What was he asking? How many people you'd slept with? What answer was he directing you to? It didn't seem to be asked out of mere curiosity, but it had a specific and unclear purpose. 

“A fair number,” you replied anxiously, hoping to placate him. “But none have ever been like you, none have ever-” 

“Answer the question,” he demanded bluntly. He pulled away from your waist and he gripped onto your upper arm instead. It was misjudged that he was looking for praise rather than honesty. It took you a few moments to think of whether you'd ever kept count when you were able to. Your former owners had certain proclivities to drugs and liked to share their property with others. The figure must have been well over a hundred. 

“I. . .I don't know,” you answered honestly. 

“How would you not know?”

“It was not something I kept track of.” 

“Give me an estimate.” 

“I'm not really sure.” 

His grip on your arm tightened and he rolled you onto your back. He was leaning over you, the light from the fire reflecting on his helmet. You tried to focus on the blackness of his visor.

“How many?” 

“A hundred or two.” His hand pulled away after a delayed moment, seemingly in disgust. He laid down on his back. 

“I am sorry, I. . .” The words trailed off, you didn't know what to say. 

He let out a deep breath that was tinged with disappointed laughter. 

“You were my. . .never mind.” He turned away on side, showing his back to you. The conversation was over. Even if he allowed you to reply, you didn't know how to. Guilt began to gnaw away at you, knowing that you had gravely disappointed him. 

You had failed him. You had. . .dirtied him. 

A minute must have passed when you realised how tensed your limbs were. But you didn't want to move, you couldn't disturb him anymore than you already had. 

Closing your eyes, you tried to think of something else, anything else that might alleviate this pain. 

“It's your choice, right?” He muttered bitterly. The hurt that arose from his harsh words slowly permeated across your chest, twisting painfully at your heart. His intention was cruel. He had meant to insult you, imply that it was your choice to be fucked by so many people when he knew it was not. 

He was upset because he had assumed that you were unused. He had thought you were untouched, he wanted the pleasure of being first even though you were an Oresian. The training had begun before you came of age, he could have had you a few years after you'd first arrive on Oresia, but not decades later.

The hurt never dissipated. 

Long into the night, hours after the fire had gone out, the pain was still apparent. It endured no matter how many times you attempted to put it down to his own misconceptions, to his own misunderstanding of what you were. 

You didn't sleep. 

He kept up the pretence for a short while in the morning, appearing to be unchanged by last night. But when you offered him some water, he took it from you with an odd sort of precision, like he was trying his best not to touch you at all. 

You must have disgusted him deeply. Immediately, you turned away to prepare some food, wondering whether he would accept breakfast. Eyes were focused on the task at hand, you tried not to upset him anymore. 

“I have to leave,” he told you quietly. His words weren't surprising, they were inevitable, but they still hurt all the same. 

“It is understood.” The reply was given as was correct, eyes were not raised to him. 

He said nothing else. 

He secured the belt around his waist along with the blaster, put on the snowshoes and the fur before heading out into the darkness. It wasn't yet daylight, it was too cold, it was still snowing. 

The muscles in your legs tensed as if in preparation to run after him, to apologise, to beg him to stay. But there was nothing you could do. 

There was never anything you could do.


	9. Gedet'ye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. Sorry it's been a while. Got a bit lost, but I've been doing better lately, getting back on track. This was a really difficult chapter to write, and I'm so glad I can finally share it with you. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you're doing well. Thanks so much for all of your support.

It snowed for five days straight. 

The ventilation tubes had been set up. Luckily this time without any frostbite. Preparations had been made to hunker down for the long snow, but on the sixth day, it stopped snowing. 

It was strange how it just. . .stopped. A false dawn, the villagers would have called it. You didn't know how long it would be until the long snow actually arrived. It could be another few weeks away. If the tubes were left for that time, it only increased the risk of them failing when they were needed most. So they had to be uninstalled. As you climbed one of the trees to take down the first tube, there was a low, almost rumbling noise and immediately you thought it was from the Razor Crest's engines. You hurried to climb down the tree but lost your footing before reaching the bottom and fell onto the snow. The impact winded you, but you weren't injured. At worst you'd ache later. 

Getting onto your feet, you listened out for his ship, it should have been louder by now. The same noise could be heard once more, it was. . .it was just a gust of wind. You stood motionless for a few moments, wondering how it had been misheard. 

When the tubes were taken down, you warmed up back in the cave and recalled the sound. It was like the ship's engines, wasn't it? You must have been on edge, anticipating his return at any moment. To think if he got caught up in the long snow and had to stay here until it was finally over. 

You would have thought you'd be against the idea of him being here with you. But the more you dwelled on it, the more it began to make sense. He would keep you company, keep you warm, make sure you were occupied. With him, you wouldn't be lost in that haze of timeless abandon. He'd look after you. Though it wouldn't be the same sort of care the Mandalorian in your dreams offered, he would stave off some loneliness. 

But he would never willingly stay here for that length of time. He wouldn't put himself in a situation where it would even be likely. It would be an inconvenience for him to remain static on this planet. He didn't seem the type to stay in one place for too long. Even if he wanted to stay, he couldn't. The Razor Crest would be buried in the snow, it would be frozen in the ice for weeks on end. Who knows what sort of damage it would do to the hull.

Would he even return after what happened? 

You had sullied him in a way you couldn't truly comprehend. He was a Mandalorian, he did not view sexuality as Oresians did. He must have thought you had not been touched another. Perhaps he had found you, as some believed, to be pure. Now that he knew the truth, you were anything but. It must have been a most egregious offence in his eyes, for him to then insult you as he did. There was nothing you could offer him now, he did not want your dirtied body. He had no other use for your service. He had no interest in you coming with him on his ship, he did not need your help with his work. You were not capable. He did not trust you. 

Another three weeks passed until it snowed for six days in a row. It had been difficult keeping the entrance to the cave cleared. The cold was horrific. It got worse when you had to install the ventilation tubes once more. Only one could be done each day, affixing all three at once just wasn't possible, you wouldn't survive it. 

When the last one was up, you tried to appreciate the landscape around the cave, but it was too cold to care. You hurried back inside, sealing yourself in for the last time.

\- - -

The days began to merge together. They turned into nothing like they did before. 

You hadn't given much thought to what happened last year. After breaking up to the surface, normality had returned. The memories of the long snow had been buried away. But now you were here again, they came barrelling down on you. 

Seeing the wall of snow outside the door again was somehow more disturbing than last time. Part of you wanted to start digging the tunnel right now, create that connection to the surface, to the light, but you would have to wait.

After waking up one day, you suddenly realised that the next time you would see the Mandalorian might be the last. He could sell you on. He had no use for you now, you were worthless to him. If he had wanted to take you with him, he would have done it a long time ago. You no longer served a purpose. He could sell you to whomever he wanted, he simply had to find an appropriate buyer with the right sort of offering price. 

He was going to take you away from this place, from your home. 

A great anxiety began to plague you at the thought of leaving Khorixas, and of then being under the command of another. He should still fetch a good price for you at least. Not everyone shared the same beliefs as the Mandalorian did, and many viewed Oresians as a noteworthy purchase. 

If he gave you to someone else, you would not live the life you did now. You were able to do what you liked for the vast majority of the time. He asked very little of you considering the life you once led back on Oresia, where each moment was finely regulated. He asked practically nothing really. You warmed his bed, you pleasured him. And he pleasured you. A fact you always seemed to overlook. What owners did that for their slaves? He was still more honourable than you ever gave him credit for. He always had been from the very beginning when he spared your life. 

You had been so selfish. 

He had never hurt you. He had never punished you or made you suffer even though it had been deserved on several occasions. He allowed you to pass the days without him as you pleased, what owners would grant their slaves such freedom? You had given yourself to him so that you wouldn't be returned to your former owners. She had deserved that much. You had chosen this servitude full well knowing the consequences, and yet, as you thought of them, there seemed to be very little.

He may not have been truthful in the beginning, but he didn't need to be. You were his property, you had no rights to demand anything of him. He had shown you kindness when there was no reason to. He had made you feel comfortable, he had given you a gift, he had shown respect by apologising to you, he granted you a dignity that you did not deserve.

The Mandalorian was more than you could have ever imagined. You were not worthy to be his. You had disobeyed him time and time again, and yet he had chosen not to punish you. When he returned, you would be better to him, you would be the best you could be, he deserved nothing less than that. 

The thought of his return spurred you to continue the exercises, to keep the fire going, to eat properly and complete minor chores around the cave.

Would he listen to your pleas when you begged him not to sell you? He must have regretted not taking you back to Oresia and getting the 43 Traq he was owed. He'd wasted so much time here, wasted all of it on you. He probably hated you for that, for being unclean in his eyes, for being tainted by others, for lacking the purity that he desired.

You started to feel something that you couldn't quite articulate at first. The pain was different, it was sharper and yet somehow deeper. It settled inside of you in a most uncomfortable way. Then as your thoughts continued to fixate on the Mandalorian, you understood what it was. It was shame. You felt shame. 

It was not something you had been trained to feel. To be ashamed of your body, of your sexuality was illogical. It was unheard of for Oresians to feel such a thing. And yet now the shame didn't go away. His beliefs had sunk down into you, proliferating uncontrollably. The hurt he had felt was acute in your heart and you felt ashamed of your past, and not being what he wanted. It was not something you could ever change, that was the worst part of it.

He would never forgive you. 

\- - -

The exercises were no longer possible. It was simply too cold. You had to huddle by the pit with a fur on your shoulders, try to take in the heat from the fire, feel some resemblance of warmth. But even that only lasted so long. 

It became too cold to get out of bed aside from the absolute necessities. You'd even tucked a few food packets along the side of the mattress, to save having to get up and search through the food crates. No longer did you waste time cooking the meals. Most of the clothes you had were worn. You had the boots on, the coat, the pants and the sweaters and the socks and you were huddled underneath the furs on the bed, with the coat's hood up and a hat and a scarf underneath. 

The fire was lit less often than before. It was such an effort to get out of bed, to leave the warmth and comfort that the furs offered. Every time you woke, you tried to picture the Mandalorian from your dreams, but he was never there. He was gone like the real Mandalorian was. All you could feel was the hurt and the shame for disappointing him. It was an irredeemable failure. 

Why couldn't you have been better? Why couldn't you have been better to him? 

The self-hatred began to split you apart. You were angry at yourself for not appreciating what he did for you, how he saved your life and allowed you to stay here. You were beginning to miss him terribly. How could you have not wanted him here? Each moment he was with you should have been appreciated, it should have been committed to memory. The hope of his return began to dwindle. 

Your body ached from laying down for so long and from the very limited movements that were performed. The cold gradually took that discomfort away until you were numb all over. But he would be warm. 

The heat of his body always permeated through his clothes and his armour until it sunk down into your skin. You craved the sensation of his arms around you, his legs tucked against yours, the weight of his arm around your waist. No one had ever held you like he did. There was a tenderness to him, an unexpected kindness, it had not been acknowledged as it should have. 

You missed him. 

It wasn't just his touch you longed for, but the simple pleasure of his company, of his presence, of him sitting on the bed cleaning his blaster, of him handing you the blindfold before he ate his food, trusting you while he removed his helmet. You needed his company more than anything. 

When would he return to you? When would you hear his ship again? How long would you have to wait for him? 

He would come back. . .wouldn't he? 

\- - -

What if he didn't think you were worth the effort to sell? He never stayed long, he was never idle. He always appeared to be busy with work, leaving sooner rather than later. He was occupied by bounties, he had to hunt them down and take them back to where they belonged. Perhaps he saw it as a waste of time to travel here and sell you on. He could easily find work in whatever system he found himself in. The Outer Rim would keep him more than occupied. 

After what happened, after he found out what you were, why would he dirty himself again? 

It was so dark. You were so cold. It had been so long since he was here. It felt like much more than weeks but months, like a whole season had passed already. The spark of hope for his return kept igniting over and over even though it was futile. 

The heater had to be turned on. 

You'd wrestled with the idea for countless days, trying to convince yourself that he would need the heater when he returned. He would not be happy if you depleted the power from all of the batteries. Hadn't you done enough to hurt him? Hadn't you failed him enough? You held out as long as you could even though it was getting more difficult to sleep, more difficult to feel even a little bit comfortable. The cold was punishing. 

He would understand, wouldn't he? He had been adamant that you look after yourself on numerous occasions, he was keen to ensure that his property was kept in good condition. To neglect yourself would be to neglect him. 

You hated the idea of disappointing him again, you remembered all of his discomfort at the cold, his comments about the low temperatures and the poor weather. He would need it when he returned. He would need it. 

But you could only hold out for so long. When the decision was made, you fumbled over to the heater and managed to get it going in the darkness. For a short while it produced no heat, you waited with bated breath, feeling the echoes of devastation begin to swell. With immeasurable relief, it puttered to life and started to spew out warm air. 

The heater was tucked by you on the mattress and left on permanently. For the first time in a while you felt comfortable. You slept soundly and dreamlessly. When you woke one morning, or evening, whenever it was, you were actually hot. The sensation and discomfort was so odd and unfamiliar you almost laughed at it. 

The layers of clothes you had on were loosened, the hood pulled down. Carrying the heater to the pit, you started a fire, and the warm blaze lifted your spirits. It was the first time you'd lit it in a while. It took several attempts to light the kindling as it was frozen, but when the fire got going, you managed to cook yourself a meal. The feeling of hot food hitting your belly made your eyes roll in pleasure. 

For a short time, you were warm. And then the first battery was depleted.

And then not long after that, the second one had run out, until finally the third and last battery died. The cold consumed you once more, and there was no more reprieve, there was nothing else that could help you now. And there was no one else either. 

The Mandalorian wasn't coming back. Why would he? He had no reason to now. After the revelations from his question, he had found out you were dirtied. You had greatly offended him and he no longer had any personal motives to return, nor did he have any financial incentives either as he could effortlessly find more profitable work wherever he decided to go. 

Waking hours were filled with the pointless attempts at trying to picture him coming to rescue you. But logic kept cutting them short, he couldn't dig through all that snow. If he was going to come back, he would have already. It had been so long since he was here. 

If not for the Mandalorian's mercy, you would have been dead months ago, after months of torture, degradation and suffering. He had saved you from that. He had saved her from that too. You should have been more grateful, you should have appreciated him more, you should have been better. 

One time you woke up with a horrible foreboding that this would be your last winter. It was heavy and immobile, the thought couldn't be shifted no matter how hard you tried. You weren't going to leave the cave, you would slowly freeze to death, or maybe you'd suffocate when all three ventilation tubes were covered over with snow. 

At least you would never be taken away from your home. No one would ever find you here. 

\- - -

Your body was shaking violently. The tremors running up your spine were agonising. The furs seemed to be doing nothing to keep you warm. A groan escaped your throat as the headache swelled against your temple. Squeezing the furs, you tried to convince yourself to get out of bed to fetch some water. 

It would be frozen solid, a fire needed to be started if you wanted to drink anything. Maybe the headache would go away after a while, if you would lie still. Clenching your eyes shut, the pain only got worse. 

Only when it became unbearable did you sluggishly get out of bed. 

The simple task of getting the fire going took far longer than it had the last time. 

The grip on the quartz wasn't quite strong enough, your fingers were stiff and shaky. You squeezed harder, striking the quartz against the metal slab. Sparks flew into the pit but didn't light the kindling.

Again and again you tried until some of the kindling caught alight. In the little light it produced, you raised your head, about to fill the cooking pot with ice. A gasp escaped your mouth, the Mandalorian was sitting opposite you.

The fire went out. You frantically kept striking the slab until the kindling lit properly. As light filled the cave once more, he wasn't there, he was gone.

“No,” you whispered with a hoarse voice. You stumbled round to the other side of the pit, hands tracing over where he'd been.

“I'm so sorry. Please come back,” you begged, closing your eyes and desperately wishing he was there when you opened them. Yet when you looked he wasn't there, he was gone. 

“Please, please come back to me.” 

But you were alone.

\- - -

You don't quite remember the last time you lit the fire. 

It must have been. . .how many times had you woke up. . .how many times since then. . .how many had it. . .

You. . .you didn't know. 

You don't remember the last time you got out of bed. 

Your bladder ached, it had for a while now, it hurt more than the cold did, but you couldn't get out of bed even though the pain got worse and worse and worse, you couldn't move, but then maybe you didn't have to, maybe you didn't have to move at all, maybe you could just. . . you let out a sigh as you relieved yourself underneath the furs, feeling the warmth spread over your legs, and then you drifted off, feeling better, feeling warmer. 

\- - -

It was dark when you were awake. 

It was dark when you were asleep. 

Not much was clear anymore, aside from the overriding desperation for the Mandalorian to return. 

You wanted him to come back, you just wanted him to come back.

Why wouldn't he come back? 

You'd be better, you'd do anything he wanted, you'd never disobey him again, you'd never do him any wrong, you'd be good to him, you'd always be good for him, if he came to see you he'd see that, even if it was just for a few hours, even if it was just a few minutes, you needed to see him again, you wanted him back, why wouldn't he come back? 

You'd be good for him.

You'd be better for him. 

You'd be the best you'd ever been. 

He wouldn't just leave you here, would he? 

He wouldn't just leave you here to die?

It was so cold. 

Your body wouldn't even rot. Your insides wouldn't seep down through the mattress onto the ground. 

You'd be frozen into place, perpetually fixed to the furs.

The door would buckle one day, it would no longer be able to take the weight and the snow would come barrelling into the cave, slowly filling every inch of it until there was nothing but snow, it would consume everything, it's what it did, it's what the cold always did, it took everything, it always took everything.

The feeling to get up and start the tunnel never came. 

You were going to die here. 

You were going to freeze to death. 

You were never going to rot. 

It was dark when you were asleep. 

It was dark when you were awake. 

You needed him to come back. Why wouldn't he come back?

You missed him. You missed him so much. 

But you were alone. 

\- - -

You heard a bang. 

It was loud. . .must have been a tree. . .must have fallen over. 

It must have been time. . .time for the door to buckle. . .time for the snow to pour in. 

You should have been scared. But you were so tired. 

You were so cold. 

You closed your eyes. . .why had you opened them in the first place? 

It was pitch black. 

It was cold. 

It was. . .

It was time.

\- - - 

There was light. 

Your eyes were burning. 

All you saw was light, horrifying white light. It was everywhere. 

Something grabbed you, something grabbed your face. It was so hot. 

The light was going to burn you. It was going to burn you alive. 

But then the light began to fade. 

You could feel yourself drifting away.

The darkness came once more, as it always did. 

It was time. 

\- - -

Your ears were hurting. 

There were noises, so many noises. They were so loud but you couldn't make out what they were. 

Why wouldn't they stop?

Your eyes started to burn again, the light came back.

Was this what it was like? In the after? 

No peace? No silence? 

You knew you didn't deserve anything more. 

But it hurt so much. 

It hurt so fucking much. 

\- - -

The light grabbed you again. It was so loud, so demanding. 

You didn't understand, you didn't understand what it wanted. 

The light fell silent, and then. . .then it began to tear you apart. 

It pulled at your limbs, one by one, peeling a layer off piece by piece. 

It was agonising, it was breaking you apart.

The light held your head down, and then it began to burn you alive, its heat seeping into your face, your nose, your cheeks. The light was eviscerating you. 

The pain was blistering.

You heard noises, horrible noises. But they weren't from the light. They weren't from the light at all. 

Your throat was hoarse. And then you realised. 

You were screaming. 

\- - -

The voice was constant. 

At first you could only make out sounds rather than coherent words. You couldn't even understand its tone.

You liked the voice, you liked hearing it. It was comforting, it was welcome company. It made you feel like you weren't alone anymore. Maybe the after wouldn't be so bad after all.

But then the voice sounded sad. It wasn't simply melancholy, it was ravaged grief. 

The intonation of the words weren't familiar at all, it must have been another language, the words of the after. None of the words made sense, but you would repeat them in your mind, trying to know the shape of them.

“Gedet'ye,” the voice muttered. You didn't want the voice to be sad. It was keeping you company, it deserved to be happy. 

“Gedet'ye k'oyacyi,” it told you. It sounded close, it sounded so close. 

You tried to chase the voice, tried to follow it wherever it went, but it would fade away. You concentrated on making out the word, on trying to understand. 

“Gedet'ye. . .”

\- - -

You could hear the fire crackling.

Odd, you don't remember lighting it. You tried to open your eyes but the light was too strong, it took a minute or so for your eyes to adjust until you could finally squint and see the small blaze. 

Moving the muscles in your face was painful, your cheeks ached, your nose hurt too.

From the size of it, the fire had been going for a while now. There was a massive pile of snow on the floor which had spilled out from the cave entrance after the door bucked in. A tree had fallen over, you remembered the bang that it had made. 

How long ago was that? Had the tree taken out all of the ventilation tubes? 

Were your running out of air? 

You stared at the fire, realising that you were warmer than since before you could remember. The warmth was wrapped around your waist, it was pressed up against your body. 

He was. . .he was back. 

It had been so long since he was last with you. But now. . .in the end, the Mandalorian had come back to you. He wasn't going to let you die alone. Straining your ears, his deep breaths could be heard alongside the fire. 

He was finally here. You had missed him so much. His absence had struck a chasm in your heart and now he had returned you felt something akin to peace. 

He wasn't going to let you die alone, how could you have ever thought that of him? 

Mindlessly, you took in his warmth, the heat of him, the rhythm of his breaths, even though you were just imagining him. He was nothing more than a manifestation of the years of training, an instinctual self-preservation which had kicked in to ensure that the property remained intact. 

He had appeared like he did at the lake. You had lit the fire yourself, and now you were picturing the Mandalorian lying beside you keeping you company in these final moments. 

At least you wouldn't die all alone in the dark. 

He had come back to you. 

\- - -

The next time you woke, he was shovelling the snow which had piled up close to the pit, and was throwing it back to the entrance. His movements were methodical and constant, like he was making a difference and not just moving the snow from one part of the cave to another. 

He wasn't going to let you go. He wanted you to live, he wanted you to keep surviving. A while yet, a while yet. 

The Mandalorian dug the shovel into the snow and exhaled loudly. He stood for a few moments before glancing briefly in your direction. He must have noticed you were awake, he immediately dropped the shovel and hurried over to the bed. 

“How do you feel? Are you warm enough?” You opened your mouth to reply, but your throat hurt too much. He quickly fetched some water and supported your head as you drank a couple of mouthfuls. You could feel it hit your empty stomach. 

He carefully wiped a few drops that had spilt down your chin and sat down next to you. His head was lowered and slightly turned away.

“I had to use the. . .the cauteriser on your face,” he told you solemnly. “The frostbite was. . .bad.” 

The cauteriser. . .it explained the heat, the pain from before. 

“I didn't think you were going to make it,” he murmured numbly. He seemed sad, withdrawn. You'd never heard him sound like that. You started to feel guilty, for not trying hard enough, for not keeping the fire going, for not fighting with everything you had. 

For disappointing him. 

Your eyes fixed onto the snow. You'd already disappointed the Mandalorian who came in his ship, and now you had disappointed the Mandalorian from your dreams. 

“The tunnel collapsed when I came down. I don't know how much of it is buried.” 

Looking at the entrance, there was nothing but snow. There was never any tunnel, there never would be. You wondered how much it would hurt you to entertain him, to pretend that you were going to be fine, to ignore the truth that the air was running out and that you were going to suffocate soon. 

“It's. . .okay,” you croaked. “You don't need to lie.” 

“Lie?” 

“I know it's. . .time. I'm glad you're. . .you're here.” 

“I shouldn't have left you here for so long, I should have come back sooner, I didn't mean to, I-” He stopped the rush of words and sighed deeply. “So much has happened.” 

“It's okay,” you reassured him, managing to pull out your arm from underneath the furs. You rested your gloved hand on his. He shifted his body and lowered himself down on you, placing his helmet on your chest. His arm laid across you in something of a hug. 

“Can't we. . . can't we use the knife?” You asked quietly. He pulled away, his elbow resting on the bed to support his weight. 

“What?” 

“I can try to do it quick. I don't. . .want to suffocate.” 

“Suffocate? We're not going to suffocate. I'm digging us out, alright?” 

“Vent tubes are gone, air's running out.” 

“There was one left so it'll be fine. We'll be fine, we'll-” 

“Can't you. . .” you interrupted him, knowing every word that he would speak. “Can't you listen to me now? I listened to you at the lake.” 

“The lake? What are you talking about?” 

“After the Isabis got me.” 

“Are you talking about a snow bear? What happened?” 

“You know. . .please. . .can't you listen to me?” 

“I am listening to you. I just need to understand, what happened with the Isabis?” 

“It got me, it got me bad. Almost bled out. . .please I. . .” You swallowed hard, not wanting to let the memories come back. “Just let me do this. Please.” 

“When did that happen?” 

“I don't know, after summer. It was a few days before he came back.” 

“Who is he?” 

“The Mandalorian.” 

“Who do you think I am?” 

“You're the Mandalorian from here,” you told him, tapping on your forehead. “He comes in his ship.” 

“You don't. . .you don't think I'm real?” 

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to offend but no. You're not.” 

“Why do you think I'm not real?” 

“He's not coming back for me. I hurt him. . .I dirtied him.” 

“Dirtied him?”

“He knows my body's been used, he didn't like that. I'm worthless now. There's nothing else I can give to him, and there's nothing else he wanted from me.” 

The Mandalorian stared for a long while before he slowly got up to his feet. He gradually migrated to the other side of the cave, his boots scuffing along the ground getting as far away from you as he possibly could. 

He sat down by the pit, holding his helmet in his hands. He knew the truth now, he knew how you had hurt the Mandalorian. Would he leave you now? Would he fade into the darkness like he did before? The shame and the guilt and the self-hatred seized at your heart, the weight of it was oppressive, all-consuming. You were just like the darkness and the cold. You took everything.

There would never be a way back from this. 

He would hate you now like the real Mandalorian did. His new purpose would not be to care for you, but to make sure you stayed alive for as long as possible, that you suffered until the very end. 

This must have been the start of it, the lack of oxygen was already making you hallucinate. There wasn't long left now. Your eyes turned to the medkit which was by the bed. There would be some painkillers in there at least. They probably wouldn't be enough to overdose, but enough to numb the pain. 

With the Mandalorian sat facing away from you, you reached out towards the medkit and managed to pull out a syringe. You'd just need to reach for one of the vials. Should you inject it into your neck? Would that be fastest?

He suddenly grabbed onto your wrist, forcing you to let go of the vial and he kicked the medkit away. He ripped the syringe in your other hand and threw it against the wall. 

“What are you doing?” He half-shouted, his hands roughly cupping your face. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

“Please, I'm so sorry,” you begged, tears welling up in your eyes. “Please have mercy.” 

“You're not doing this, do you understand? I'm real, I'm right here! You're going to be okay. We're going to get out of here.” 

You were right. He was here to make sure you suffered, he would never allow you to numb the pain, you would have to take the full brunt of it. You would get exactly what you deserved. You closed your eyes, thinking how you had once looked at him with hope as he murmured comforting words to you, as he knew and understood your struggles, as he would do nothing more than take care of you. 

“Look at me,” he told you. “Please just look at me.” You did as commanded and stared at the black visor, you'd never see the eyes underneath. If you'd never tended to his injuries, never saw his bare flesh you could have imagined him to be one of the protocol droids from childhood. He was nothing more than a remnant of your training now, forcing you to survive, preventing you from trying to end your suffering. Your former owners were punishing you, even now. 

“I'm here, I promise you that we're going to be okay.” 

“I know what you are,” you told him, trying to move his hands away from your face, but you were too weak. You'd always been too weak. “You belong to them. You're their shadow.” 

He slowly shook his head at you, not even bothering to try and deny it. He easily grabbed onto your wrists, you didn't have any strength left. 

“You should have just left me here to die.” 

He spoke no words, there was nothing that could be said now. He lifted your upper body off the mattress, his arms wrapping around your waist and your shoulders like you meant something to him. He pressed your face in between his helmet and the armour plate on his shoulder, his fingers rubbing against the back of your head like he cherished you, like he cared about you. But as you slumped against him you knew the truth, it had been drilled into you since you were a child. 

You meant nothing. 

\- - - 

He kept trying to talk to you. 

You didn't know why, you didn't reply to him. You didn't even bother looking at him anymore. You were just waiting for the moment he would fade into the darkness like before. 

But he was always there. 

He described what he was doing as he slowly undressed you, peeling off the furs and then taking off each layer of clothing one by one. You were already shivering violently when he began to wipe you down with a wet cloth. He was washing you. His hands didn't linger, they didn't punish. It wasn't long before he dried you and had his own cloak wrapped around your body. He moved the furs around on the bed and made sure you were tucked in. Getting onto the mattress and laying beside you, his legs pressed up against you, his arm secured around your body like he was trying to hold you down into the earth. 

He would cook you meals, he would feed you, he would make sure the fire was lit. He helped you up onto your feet, forcing you to stand and to move around the cave with his support. You're not sure why he bothered, you'd been managing to light the fire just fine. Him lighting the fires was just your imagination, it was nothing more than the narrative playing out in your mind. 

He melted the ice over the pit, making sure you had plenty of water. He fed you only a little at first, the portions gradually getting bigger over time. You supposed you had been starving, you couldn't remember the last time you ate before he was here. He washed your clothes, hung them above the pit to dry before he put them back on you. 

The Mandalorian started to talk about a child. 

A child who he had saved and taken in. He said that though the child would have been only a toddler in a human lifespan, the child was in fact fifty years old. You wondered where you had conjured up such a story in the recesses of your subconscious, it wasn't similar to any story you had heard or told. He kept hinting that there was something special about the child. You couldn't quite work out what it was. He said that the child began a bounty, like you did. But from the way he spoke, he had come to truly care for the child.

The stories started to make sense. You wished you were that child, that he spoke of you with such affection, that he would risk his life, that he would do anything for you. His words made you yearn for unreachable things, for innocence, for childhood, for a fate chosen by yourself. The tales were another way he was punishing you, reminding you of what you were. The pain in your heart was permeating like an unmoving sickness. The more he spoke, the more you wanted silence. 

His proficiency in hunting people down must have been on par with his ability to cause suffering. Hunters knew how to wound, how to expose, how to use minimal effort to inflict maximum damage. He knew how to kill something, and he knew how to keep it alive. How you had once thought that he had given you dignity and respect, how you had pleaded for him to come back, begged that he would return. 

He had ruined you. 

\- - -

The Mandalorian started to dig a tunnel. 

The sound of the shovel stirred you from sleep a while ago now. He'd cleared most of the snow that had spilled out from the door to one side and was beginning to carve out something of a tunnel, but the shape of it was all wrong. There couldn't be any edges, it had to be completely round. Of course this was his plan, to do it incorrectly, he was trying to incite your help, trying to get you active and focused. 

It must have been more than half an hour since you woke up when the snow came tumbling down. He stumbled backwards with the shovel, managing to keep himself from falling over. The snow poured into the cave, and there was even more of it now than from before. 

“Needs to be round,” you mumbled before the words could be swallowed down.

“What?” You almost let out a sigh, annoyed at yourself from even interacting with him. 

“The tunnel has be a round circle, no edges.” 

“I'll keep that in mind.” 

“There's no point digging anyway. Snow's loose, the tree must have unsettled it.” 

“What tree?” 

“The tree that fell over.” 

“Why do you think a tree fell over?” 

“There was a loud bang, the door buckled and then the snow came in.”

“A tree didn't fall over, that was me. I used some explosives to clear the snow.”

“What?” 

“It's cold up there. I didn't have time to dig. I had to. . .I had to get down here.” 

You stared incredulously, wondering why he had said such a thing. Was this his way of getting back onto your good side? By giving the impression that he had valiantly and desperately fought his way beneath the surface to reach you? They had trained you so well, hadn't they? You would delude yourself in anyway possible to survive, imagine that the Mandalorian had come here to save you. 

“You still don't believe I'm real, do you?” He spoke with an acute sadness in his tone. The sound of it made your heart clench. He was working out which tactic would be best to employ, what delusions would convince you of his reality. 

You turned over in the bed to face the wall, bringing the furs up high, wanting to blot him out, wishing he still couldn't hurt you. 

\- - - 

He had listened to your advice. The new tunnel he was digging was perfectly round. He was making progress every time you woke up. Soon, his whole body was inside the tunnel. He didn't melt the snow as you had done before, but simply kept piling it up in the cave. 

The Mandalorian climbed out of the tunnel for a break, pulling one of the furs over his shoulder. He added more logs to the fire before cooking some food. When it was done, he offered you the whole pot, though you only managed to eat about a third of it. As he took the pot away, he pulled out a piece of material and handed it over. A blindfold you realised, it wasn't the one he'd used before. 

He was really taking you through the motions, his pretence was outstanding. He wanted to see how far you would go along with this charade. You simply stared blankly at him.

“If you don't mind,” he muttered. Half a minute passed with no response. He tucked the piece of material away and climbed into the tunnel with the pot. You couldn't see him from this angle. Part of you wanted to climb out of bed to seek him out, curious what kind of blank void his face would be. But you didn't move, it just didn't feel right, even though he wasn't real. 

When he came out of the tunnel, the pot was empty. He'd never pretended to eat before, this must have been a new level of authenticity. As he cleaned the cooking pot, your eyes fixated on the light reflecting on his chest plate. It wasn't right. . .the armour. . .it was different, it was unmarked, it wasn't red anymore, it was silver beskar. And not just the chest plate, but the plates on his shoulders, on his thighs, even the vambraces. Why was he wearing different armour? When had it changed? When had it. . . 

This didn't make sense, this wasn't right. Why would you change the colour of his armour? Was this another distraction tactic? Keep you focused and concentrating rather than let your mind drift? What would change next? What was going to happen? When would he-

“What's wrong?” He asked, breaking you from the spiralling questions. Your eyes were wide as you shook your head to denote that nothing was wrong, but he didn't believe you. He wiped his gloves before coming to sit next to you on the mattress. No, no, why was he coming closer? This was wrong, it was all wrong. 

“Hey, it's okay,” he told you, his hand resting on your shoulder. You kept shaking your head, he was wrong, he was wrong, it wasn't okay, none of this was okay, you couldn't take this, you couldn't do it anymore, when was he going to fade into the darkness, when was he going to leave you, when was this all going to end? 

Your head kept shaking, body beginning to rock back and forth. This was wrong, this was all wrong, it wasn't real, it wasn't real. Suddenly he was in bed, lying in front of you. Why did he look different? Why had his armour changed? It wasn't right, it wasn't real, it wasn't fucking real. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, his other hand gently pressing against your forehead, trying to still your movements. 

It was getting hard to breathe. Your cheeks were wet, your nose was running. He hushed you gently, but the sound of him made everything worse. Why weren't you dead yet? Why wouldn't he get out of your head? Why was this happening? It wasn't real. None of this was real. 

\- - - 

He kept working on the tunnel. He would regularly come out just to check on you, ask if you were thirsty or hungry. Most of the time you would pretend to be asleep, not wanting him near you, but he always knew when you were pretending. 

You couldn't help but think about the tunnel and how much progress he had made, or rather you had made. With the amount of snow inside the cave now, it had to be significant. Why weren't you imagining yourself to be helping him? Why were you still confined to the bed? The snow needed to be melted otherwise the snow would keep piling up and up until the cave was consumed by it. Why wasn't he melting the snow? No longer could the curiosity be ignored. After being awake for a couple of hours, wrestling with the questions in your mind, you finally moved to the side of the bed. 

Pulling the furs away, you placed the boots onto the ground, gradually beginning to put some weight on your legs. With both hands gripping onto the mattress, you tried to pull yourself to your feet. Your arms were shaking from the exertion but you couldn't get up. Letting out a tired sigh, you allowed yourself to rest for a few minutes. Maybe you'd slept too long, that's all it was. You could easily get up, you just had to put the effort in. 

So you tried again, you pushed against the bed, transferring your weight onto your feet. Slowly, you managed to rise to stand, legs weak and trembling. Before you even attempted to take a step, your legs gave out underneath you. Your body collapsed, head impacting the floor with a thud. 

A groan escaped your mouth at the sharp pain. Raising a glove to the side of your head, it wasn't bleeding but you were certain a large bump would grow soon enough. The Mandalorian climbed out of the tunnel and he knelt down beside you, his hands supporting your head. He checked the injury himself before lifting you up off the floor. 

“You have to be careful,” he gently admonished you as he laid you out on the bed, resting the fur blankets over your body. As he opened up the medkit, you didn't understand what just happened. You couldn't even stand. How had you been digging the tunnel if you couldn't even reach it? You had used every bit of energy you had to get out of bed, and yet you weren't able to. 

It didn't make sense. None of it made any sense. 

You'd been digging the tunnel for days now. Were you not even walking then? Were you crawling to the tunnel each day, managing to pull yourself up into it before digging out the snow? No, that couldn't have been right. You were. . .exhausted and all you were doing was trying to support your own weight. How could have managed to spend hours in the tunnel? 

“I can't stand up,” you told the Mandalorian as he pressed something cool against your head. 

“It's going to take a while for your body to recover. Give it time, but you'll get there.”

“I don't understand.” Was none of the tunnel even real? Was this just him encouraging you to take those first few steps, build up your stamina so you could start digging? 

You didn't know. You didn't know anymore. 

\- - -

You mentioned to him about melting the snow. He looked over at you and he didn't say anything for a brief moment, as if he was considering your advice. Without any rebuttal he simply nodded and once again he had taken your advice. 

Rather than watching him do all the work, you wanted to be useful, so he helped you off the bed and positioned you by the pit. He would shovel the snow and ice into the cooking pot, and you would break it up with the knife to make it melt faster. It didn't take long for your arms to start aching, but you pushed through the pain, you'd been in that bed long enough. 

The next day, he shovelled a small pile of snow next to the pit, and you filled up the pot yourself. It gave him the time to keep working on the tunnel, though you were tiring quickly. 

The Mandalorian had been encouraging you to put some weight on your legs. He helped you walk around the cave a little, but you still couldn't support yourself, you couldn't stand anymore. You had stayed in that bed for so long, it might not just have been weeks, it might have been months. Of course your muscles would have atrophied. Like he said, you would have to give it time. 

When the cooking pot was filled with water, you called out to the Mandalorian to let him know. A few moments later he came out of the tunnel and emptied the pot into the main water supply. He said there was plenty of room left in the tanks, so you kept melting the snow. You weren't able to keep up with him though, he was digging out more snow than you could melt. 

The work kept your mind busy, it made sense. Your mind wasn't racing with thoughts like before. When you took in the silver colour of his armour, you didn't seize in panic and confusion. Thankfully nothing else changed, his presence was constant, his actions were the same, he took care of you, he was getting you out of here. He was keeping you alive. 

After hours of work, the Mandalorian cooked you some food. He didn't add the spices and flavourings like you did. He used a couple of food packets and mixed in some protein bar with them. It was warm and hearty, he watched as you ate. When you finished, he suggested to eat a little more so you had two more mouthfuls. 

“That's good,” he complimented as he took the pot back. “You have to keep your energy up.” He stood up to finish the rest of the food and was about to go back into the tunnel when you held out your hand. You didn't want him to leave. 

“I'll wear it,” you told him, waiting for him to hand over the blindfold. He hesitated and glanced over to the tunnel. You realised that this was going to test the trust he had in you, if he had any at all. Before you could tell him to forget about it, he reached for something underneath his chest plate and pulled out the piece of material he'd held out before. 

“Are you sure?” You asked nervously. 

“Yeah, I am.”

“I'm not right in the head.” 

“You're more coherent now than you've been since I got here.” 

“Since you blew up tens of feet of snow to get here?” He huffed out a soft laugh, the sound of it making your heart lighter. 

“I used my flamethrower too,” he replied, pointing to one of his vambraces. 

“Not your helmet? It could be a pretty good shovel you know.” His laugh this time was more vocal, the feeling in your heart twisted even higher. 

“Hadn't thought of that.” He passed over the blindfold and you covered up your eyes with it, tying it securely around your head. Over the sounds of the fire, you could just about make out the sounds of a spoon hitting the cooking pot. 

For a moment, you wondered what the fuck you were doing, why you were entertaining him once again. But the easy conversation had made you feel better than you had in a very long time. Even if it wasn't real, even if he wasn't here, you could still enjoy it while it lasted. 

\- - -

You were breaking up more ice, and using the knife to cut it up into smaller chunks in the pot. It felt nice being huddled by the fire, doing something useful. With the Mandalorian's help, you were able to stand by yourself for a few seconds now, though you couldn't walk unaided. It was progress, that was what mattered. 

For some reason you had accepted that death was not an option. He would not allow it. Each day with him here, you were piecing yourself back together, though there seemed to be little left. You felt numb most of the time, aside from the interactions with the Mandalorian, with his presence beside you in the bed, with the stories he kept telling you about the child. You didn't really feel anything aside from bodily functions, whether it was hunger or tiredness, or whether it was needing to use the chamberpot. He had helped you use it since he arrived, but now you could sometimes use it without him. 

Before he came back, you had been so desperate for him, and now he was here, at first you had scorned his presence. He became an obstacle to relief from the pain, he became an enforcer of the rules that had to be followed. Now you didn't know what he was. You didn't want him to leave. You didn't want him to stay. 

He just existed, like you did. 

\- - -

You'd been working for hours when he helped you over to the bed. As soon as you were settled, he headed back into the tunnel to continue digging.

One of the piles of snow had reached the ceiling of the cave, even with your efforts to melt down as much as possible. You should have insisted that you kept going, but he'd ignored the request when it had been mentioned before. He had simply reminded you to take the time to rest. Though it was warm by the fire and a fur was worn over your shoulders, there was something comforting about getting into the bed. It was more a place of refuge than the prison it had previously become, when you could not leave it at all. 

Having the choice, made it all better. 

You should have appreciated those months of freedom. It had been a brief gift, something you'd never have again. You had been so lucky to escape your former owners, but the Mandalorian was not someone who you could escape from. Even if you could reach the surface, even if you could get off planet somehow, would you even do it? 

More snow was coming out of the tunnel. The Mandalorian had been working since before you woke up. He would need to rest soon. Your eyebrows furrowed when you saw even more snow spill out from the tunnel. There was much more than normal, it must have been four or five shovel's worth all at once. It wasn't right. 

Sitting up in the bed, you stared in horror as the snow came piling into the cave.

“No.” Ripping the furs away, you climbed off the mattress onto the floor. You began to crawl to the tunnel, using your arms to pull yourself forwards. The tunnel must have collapsed and the Mandalorian was still inside. The snow then stopped moving completely, the tunnel filled entirely. 

When you reached the cave's entrance, you used your legs to push yourself up onto the pile of snow in front of the tunnel. You began to dig into the loose snow with your gloved hands, trying to push as much of it out of the tunnel as you could. But there was so much of it. You kept digging and digging, desperately trying to reach him, but it was all snow, it was all fucking snow. 

“No, no!” You cried out, frantically pushing the snow out of the way. He couldn't die like this, he couldn't die here with you, he couldn't leave, he couldn't go, not yet, not yet. Every time you shoved the snow onto the floor, even more took its place. The collapse had severely disturbed the snow, it would be crushing him now, it would be suffocating him. This couldn't be happening, there was too much snow, it was never-ending, you'd never reach him in time. You arms were aching profusely, but you couldn't stop, you had to save him, you had to get to him. And yet with every handful, armful, whatever you could shift out of the way, you were becoming more and more exhausted. Your hands were stiffening and getting less tactile with each movement. Eventually you ran out of energy, no longer able to keep digging.

You stared at the snow, chest heaving with heavy breaths from the exertion. It must have been more than ten minutes since the tunnel had collapsed, he would have. . .he would have run out of air. A swell of grief hit your heart now that you were beginning to realise what had just happened. 

He was gone. He had just died and you didn't even see it happen. You weren't even close to him. He was alone, he was all alone and it was all your fault. 

No, no, this couldn't be it, he couldn't be dead. What if. . .what if it was a partial collapse? The snow might have blocked the entrance to the cave, he might be safe but unable to turn around and start digging his way back. He still might have a chance. 

You began to dig again. Loose snow was pushed onto the floor. The shaking started with your hands, but soon your whole body was shivering from the cold. He might have a chance, he might have a chance, you kept telling yourself, willing yourself to keep going, to reach him, to save him. You were so cold. You didn't have a fur over your shoulders, there wasn't time, you had to get to him. He couldn't have just died in there. 

You had to save him. It was your duty, it was your fucking purpose. How could have failed him? How could you have failed him after you had already failed her? You couldn't hear anything but blood rushing to your ears. Your heart hurt every time it would beat. It was a struggle to breathe. 

You had to dig the tunnel, you had to get to him. You had to dig, you had to dig, you had to dig. 

He'd wanted you to dig. He'd always wanted you to dig the tunnel. He'd wanted you to live, that's why he came here, it's why. . . 

What if. . .what if he was never really here? 

Your movements came to a stop as the realisation slowly began to sink in. The Mandalorian had only appeared when you gave up, and then he had forced you to survive, to keep going. He had planned it all from the start. It had all been his way to get you here, to make you reach this moment where the journey up to the surface began. He had saved you, he had cared for you, he told you stories, he made sure you were fed and warm. He held you close. He made you care for him, and now you were desperately trying to save him even though he wasn't there. 

It had all been a fucking lie, nothing but a delusion, imaginations and echoes from the training. He had succeeded in his purpose to ensure that you could take care of yourself, that you would take care of yourself. He had made certain you would reach this point to begin the dig. You felt ashamed for believing he was real, you'd been so stupid. He'd never cared about you, he was just a failsafe to ensure that the property remained intact. 

How pathetic were you, beginning to mourn for his loss when he had never really been here. Your body slid down the pile of snow onto the floor. Were you so foolish and so desperate to be cared for that you had driven yourself to hallucinations about the Mandalorian saving you?

He wasn't coming back. He'd left you here, why couldn't you fucking accept that? You were going to die here, it was how things were meant to be. You deserved far worse than this. And yet still with the realisation, the pain in your heart didn't go away. The grief was agonising, how could you mourn for something that wasn't real? He wasn't fucking real. 

There was movement in the snow. Automatically you shifted backwards out of the way as the tunnel was going to collapse further. When you moved a few feet away from the cave entrance, a gloved hand poked through the snow. The hand was calmly clearing the snow away. You stared incredulously at the sight of the Mandalorian's vambrace, the silver beskar reflecting the light from the fire. After clearing enough space, he climbed out of the tunnel, wiping the snow off his shoulders. 

He was. . .he was fine, he was there. He was standing right in front of you. 

“We did it, I broke through to the surface,” he told you proudly. You didn't understand. You didn't understand what you were seeing.

“What are you doing down there? You must be cold.” He retrieved a fur from the bed and secured it around your body. “Come on, I'll take you up there.” 

Unable to speak, you didn't move as he went through the motions of pulling out a cable from his vambrace and tying it around your torso like a harness. 

“Is that too tight?” He queried when he'd finished. You felt your head shaking in response though that action was illogical. He carefully lifted you on top of the pile by the tunnel and he went inside, beginning to slowly pull you through. The light on his helmet was illuminating the way, showing the perfectly round edges of the tunnel. He moved you carefully, pulling you a foot or two at a time. 

The temperature was dropping, the cold was becoming palpable. It wasn't long until the Mandalorian was helping you out onto the surface. It was night time, but with his light you saw a landscape which was barely recognisable. There were barely any trees left, so much snow had fallen that the forest was almost entirely buried. The trees that were left were just oddly shaped mounds of snow. One ventilation tube remained intact and uncovered, it was still tied to the top of the tree. A couple more foot of snow and it would have been buried too. 

“I can bring you back up here in the morning,” he mentioned. “It'll be better when it's light.” 

\- - -

He was right, it was better in the morning. 

When he'd taken you back down to the cave last night, you hadn't slept, you couldn't. You were in a strange limbo, frantically waiting for the moment to see the sun again, to view the forest and the landscape, to watch the skies and the clouds go by. It would bring clarity, it had to. 

There was nothing left now. 

After a few hours of lying in bed next to him, he brought you up to the surface to see the sunrise. It was. . .it was beautiful, like it was before. You'd felt like this before, the last time you broke to the surface and saw the sun again. It seemed so vivid. 

You turned your head and saw the Razor Crest which was less than a hundred yards away. He had landed the ship in the midst of the forest that had been buried by the snow. There was barely any snow on the hull, an inch or two at most. The Mandalorian was taking in the surroundings like you were, but he wasn't the one from your dreams. 

The clarity to the soft light against his armour was unmistakable. You knew it somehow, at the base of your gut, that this was real, that he was real. But that meant he was. . .

It was him. 

He was the one who came in his ship. Had it been him this whole time? When did it start? When did he arrive? You remembered the light and the heat on your face, a cauteriser he had said, frostbite was bad. Anxiety began to grow inside of you. It moved quickly, its weight heavy and gnawing at your insides like it had been ravenous to return. You had spoken to him with such disregard, such disrespect. Your head lowered to the ground as you began to contemplate the suffering he would inflict. Your body flinched when he spoke, telling you that it was too cold and that he'd take you back down. 

When you were back on the bed, you didn't look at him as he said he needed to review the ship's systems to check everything was functional. You nodded and bowed your head, sputtering out an acknowledgement of his words. 

As he left, the confusion and the anxiety spiralled so quickly that your head started to hurt. How was he not the one from your dreams? He'd acted like it. Hadn't he? He'd taken care of you like the Mandalorian never had. He'd told you stories. . .his voice had kept you from drifting away. The Mandalorian barely spoke to you, all he wanted was your body, all he wanted was satisfaction, he did not care about you. 

You didn't understand. You couldn't understand. Was he. . .was he nursing you back to health, not only because you were his property, but because he wanted you in good health so that when the time was right he could punish you as he desired, without restriction. Your former owners had done it before. The waiting, the anticipation had sometimes been worse than the actual punishment. How would he make you suffer? 

You were scared. 

You had told him that he should have left you here to die. A more disrespectful thing could not be spoken. When he came back and started to prepare some food, you tried to force yourself to speak, to offer to cook instead of him doing it, anything to get back into his good graces. But there was a lump in your throat, so you couldn't say anything. Nerves swam around your stomach which made eating difficult, but it was forced down regardless. After he had eaten, he said that the blindfold could be removed before sitting next to you on the bed. 

“You know I'm real now, don't you,” he murmured, his hand resting on your shoulder. You looked at the visor of his helmet, nodding in reply. 

“Good, that's good,” he pulled his hand away, and retrieved something from one of his pockets. “I got these from the ship.” He held out two injectors, the needles on both of them were abnormally large.

“They're for muscle regrowth, they'll be good for your legs,” he explained. “You'll itch a lot for the next few days, but you'll be walking in no time.” 

You managed to nod again before he said they'd need to be injected directly into the muscle, the tone of his voice suggesting that he meant something else, but it wasn't understood what. 

“We'll need to take these off.” He gestured to your pants. You reached down to remove them and started to slid them down your hips but it was a struggle to lift yourself up off the bed. He slid an arm underneath you, easily lifting you up and helping you pull down your pants until they were down by your ankles. 

Your body began to tremble as you were exposed once more. He covered up one of your legs with the fur, probably assuming that you were cold. He used one injector on your thigh and your calf, a grunt of pain was held back at the sensation of the thick needle piercing your skin. After shifting the fur onto your other leg, he used the second injector on your other thigh and calf before putting your pants back on. The second one didn't hurt as much as the first did. 

You managed to spit out a thankyou when he covered you up with the furs. He went back to the pit, tending to the fire and adding more logs to it. Even though he'd moved away from you, even though the furs were covering your body, even though you weren't cold, you didn't stop shaking. 

\- - -

He was right about the itching. You had to constantly resist the urge to pull off your gloves and start scratching at your legs. Clenching your hands into fists, you had to wrap your arms around yourself. 

It had been a couple of days since he'd taken you to see the sunrise. In that time he'd helped you around the cave before taking you up the tunnel and walking with you to the ship. You were exhausted by the time he got you there. He made you put more weight on your legs that you had before. He opened up the hatch, saying you could rest inside for a few little while. After helping you up, he went into the cockpit, probably checking the systems again, no doubt he was anxious to leave after spending so long here. How long had he been here now? Could you even ask him that?

The ship started to vibrate softly as he started up the engines. The cold in the air was beginning to dissipate. Was he going to take off now? Dump you on another world to sell you? It made perfect sense. He had no use for you anymore. But it wasn't long until the engines stopped and he came back down. 

“I have to leave tomorrow, need to get the kid,” he mentioned as he stepped away from the ladder. “I'm sure he's long outstayed his welcome by now.” The tone of his voice was almost jovial. What was he talking about? 

“You remember the kid I was telling you about?” He must have seen the confusion on your face. You nodded in response, but it took a few moments for his words to make sense. “He's staying with a friend at the moment.” The child. . .those stories, they were all real? 

He helped you back down the hatch before taking you to the tunnel, he made you walk by yourself the last ten yards or so. You were lucky you didn't fall over when the wind picked up. After complimenting your progress he headed into the tunnel and pulled you along by the cable around your fur. 

That evening, both of you were sitting by the pit while he prepared dinner. 

“Will you be okay by yourself here?” He asked while stirring the contents of the cooking pot. 

“Yes.” 

“It'll take me a few weeks to get back. I'll bring some supplies with me.” 

“It is understood.” 

“Do you feel better?” 

“Yes, thankyou.” 

“You seem more like yourself, it's good.” You bowed your head, understanding that he meant you were being obedient as you should be, that you were being respectful, unlike before. 

“And you're not worthless,” he told you quietly. You looked up at him, trying to work out what he saying. “You told me just after I got here that you're worthless, but you're not. You can't ever be.” You nodded, realising his meaning. You had inherent worth as his property, regardless if he had found you dirtied, that did not negate your worth as a slave. 

He would find another use for you.


End file.
